


The Distance Between Us

by Marrilyn



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abuse, Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe - High School, Biphobia, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F, Friendship, Hate to Love, High School, Holding Hands, Intimidation, Multi, Slurs, Threats, Tutoring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2020-01-16
Packaged: 2020-07-11 13:48:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 40
Words: 111,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19929064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marrilyn/pseuds/Marrilyn
Summary: Just when you thought high school couldn't possibly get any worse, classmate and archenemy, Rowena MacLeod, is selected to be your math tutor. As the two of you spend more time together, boundaries break and secrets get revealed. Maybe there's more to the school's mean girl than meets the eye.





	1. Fs and Enemies and Principals, Oh My!

You hated Rowena MacLeod.

Maybe _hated_ was too strong a word.

Disliked.

Disfavored.

Disesteemed.

Whatever the most appropriate terminology was, the fact remained that she was your least favorite person in this school.

Okay, maybe second least favorite. Or third. There certainly were a lot of assholes at your high school.

But, god, Rowena was a special kind.

She'd never done anything to you personally. There was animosity in your interactions, but it didn't go beyond that.

She was, however, nasty to your friend. Who was her brother and was equally nasty to her in return, but still. The friend code and all.

She used your other friend. Strung him along and took advantage of him. Took his kindness for granted.

She was popular, and had gotten so in a rather… interesting way. Her way to the top consisted of sucking up to other popular kids until some felt sorry enough for her that they'd let her become one of them (or they'd given in to get her to shut up) and dating the school's biggest douchebag.

And she got an A today, one hundred percent, perfect score, and looked so damn smug you barely held back an eye-roll.

You'd gotten an F. One percent. You supposed it could have been worse — Dean Winchester, sitting a few rows down, got a zero. Yay, you!

First math test of your senior year, and you'd failed it.

Great fucking start!

 _Fuck it,_ you thought. It wasn't like this was going to matter. Those numbers, formulas no one in their right mind would remember in a few weeks' time, this stupid test — they didn't matter. Ten years from now, and no one would think of them. Life would go on as normal. All of today would be nothing but yet another blur in the foggy sea of memories. Maybe not even that.

Thinking like that didn't make you feel any better. Your stomach was still tight with pressure. Hands still balled into fists on your thighs. Teeth clenched. Heart racing.

This was only the first test, you tried telling yourself.

That, exactly, was the problem, your other, more rational (or rather pessimistic) side argued. You'd started the school year with a big, fat F. In Math, of all things. Your least favorite subject. Your worst one. The subject you'd almost failed last year, and the one before that.

If this was your big start, you were screwed.

Ms. Hanscum was a great teacher. She was kind to the students and acted more like a friend than a teacher. She helped everyone who struggled out, explained everything multiple times if necessary.

Yet you still sucked.

Math just happened to be your public enemy number one.

Ms. Hanscum could go over her lessons a thousand times. She could sit you on her lap like a toddler and hold your hand as you wrote down her instructions. She could have superpowers that made everyone she spoke to understand math. You _still_ wouldn't get it.

You weren't generally stupid.

You were just stupid for _math._

Rowena's eyes met yours for a short moment. Her mouth was wide with a smile; it would have been cute if it wasn't condescending. There was a softness to her expression, a casualness almost innocent. It didn't fool you. You knew the only reason she was looking around was to watch those less fortunate, to rub her success in.

That was what people like her did. They reveled in the others' misfortune, basked in it, breathed it in in large gulps like air. Lived off it.

You flashed her a smile of your own. Sugary sweet, the kind so obviously fake it was purposeful.

She looked away.

Good.

Let her find another target to look down at.

You were not in the mood. At all.

* * *

Lunch made you feel a bit better. It wasn't so much the food (the measly pastry you were nibbling on) as it was your friends' support. As always, your tiny gang listened to every word you said and were quick to offer jokes and kind words to make it better.

It worked like magic.

Mostly.

"It's not so bad," Dean said. "I got a zero!" At that he grinned with pride only a jock like him could have in such a grade. "I never got a zero before!"

"Freshman year, English," you reminded him.

"Oh, yeah! That was wild!"

Sure was.

So was the summer school he had to go to to be allowed to pass on to his Sophomore year. Fun times!

He bragged to everyone about his brother helping him out. His _younger_ brother, who was an eighth-grader at the time. If he wasn't a jock, that would've earned him mockery.

"Ms. Hanscum will let you make it up, right?" Sam, the aforementioned brother, asked.

He was a huge nerd. Best kid in his class like Rowena was in yours, but unlike her, he was a good person. Sweet. Kind. He always had his head buried in a book and spent an unhealthy amount of time in the library.

Thanks to his brother's popularity, other popular kids left him alone. Nobody wanted the wrath of Dean Winchester, and, by extension, the entire football team, at their back.

"I guess," you said.

Most likely. Ms. Hanscum was big on helping kids out as best as she could.

"I can help you out, if you want," Sam offered.

Your heart swelled up with gratitude. "Thanks, Sam. I'll let you know."

He was a year younger, but he was smart. Crazy smart. Too bad you and math were on horrible terms.

"Make up exams are for losers," Crowley announced, taking a drag of his cigarette.

You sighed. Expect him to offer useless commentary.

"Dude, you almost failed Sophomore year," you told him. Had it not been for Sam, he would've been held back this summer.

Crowley shrugged. "Happens to the best of us."

You quirked up an eyebrow. "So you're a loser, too?"

"I hang out with you lot, do I not?"

You flipped him the bird, while Sam and Dean rolled their eyes.

Crowley was special. He was your friend and you loved him dearly, maybe even more than the Winchester brothers. He was snarky and sarcastic, liked to push people's buttons, and considered being an annoyance a hobby. Generally, though, he was harmless. All bark and no bite. An acquired taste you'd, for reasons unknown, taken a liking to.

He was a good friend. A _great_ friend.

He was also Rowena's brother.

The MacLeod siblings had a strange relationship. They always snarked at each other. Called each other names and acted hostile. Sometimes even got into screaming matches right in the middle of the hallway and had to be separated by teachers.

But they were also protective of each other. One time, Arthur Ketch had called Rowena a whore. Crowley, who often called her that himself, punched him in the face and got himself a week's detention. Another time, Rowena overheard Naomi Godsend telling her friends about her plan to ask Crowley out on a date as a joke and slapped the living daylights out of her once they'd stepped off school grounds.

It was weird. You didn't ask questions. Even if you did, you doubted Crowley would have any answers.

"Ass," you said.

"Bitch," Crowley retorted.

You laughed. He laughed along.

"Your sister got a hundred percent. _Again,"_ you said.

He rolled his eyes. "Figures. Bloody miss perfect."

"She kept looking at people, like, _'I'm so much better than you peasants.'_ " You imitated her accent in an overly exaggerated way, earning you a laugh from Dean and Crowley.

"Are you sure that's what she was doing?" Sam asked.

Way to ruin the moment.

"Why else would she be doing it?" you asked.

"Maybe she just wanted to see how others did."

"Yeah, and then point and laugh at them."

"Did she do that?" he said.

"Internally, most likely," you said.

"So she didn't."

You sighed. There was no winning this. "She's a bitch, Sam. The entire school knows that."

"The entire school doesn't know her," Sam defended.

"I live with her, Moose," Crowley cut in. "And I can say with utmost certainty she's a massive bitch."

"You think that about everyone," Sam pointed out. "Even us."

"No, I don't," Crowley said defensively. "I think she's a bigger bitch than all of you."

"Thanks so much, Crowley," you deadpanned.

"You're welcome, Y/N," he said smugly.

Sam rolled his eyes, then turned back to you. "She's not so bad."

Sure, she wasn't. "She's badder than bad," you argued. "Why are you friends with her?"

He shrugged. "She's nice."

You snorted. Crowley laughed. Dean scowled as if Sam had just admitted to stealing his porn.

"She is," Sam said defensively. "Once you get to know her."

The only reason she was hanging out with him was his connection to Dean. That was the reason she hung out with all her other "friends." Why she chased after Lucifer Shurley until he agreed to date her. Popularity. Power. It was her drug.

Rowena didn't have friends — she had accessories to use to her advantage.

But no matter how many times you and Crowley told Sam about it, your words fell on deaf ears. The younger Winchester believed in the good in her to the point where he was blind to the bad.

It was his funeral.

You'd already prepared an "I told you so" speech for when she kicked him out of her life like a useless old doll. It was bound to happen eventually.

"Whatever you say, Sam," you said, then changed the subject back to math.

It was much more interesting than Rowena MacLeod.

Much less complicated.

* * *

The final ring of the bell for the day was music to your ears. You packed your bag in a hurry and ran out, trying to navigate your way out through the sea of students crowding the hallway, your thoughts already on the diner where your friends, having finished their classes an hour earlier, were waiting for you. You could already smell the food, the delicious aroma of coffee and fruity smoothies, your empty stomach grumbling with yearning.

Then the principal's voice sounded through the speakers, and all your hopes were shattered.

"Rowena MacLeod and Y/N Y/L/N, please come to the principal's office. Rowena MacLeod and Y/N Y/L/N, to the principal's office."

_Shit!_

What did you do know? What did he think you did? Had Rowena told him something? Had she gotten you in trouble?

The last time you were in the principal's office was a year ago, when Lucifer Shurley thought the ideal way to flirt with you was to get in your face and grab your ass.

You introduced your fist to his face.

Lucky for you, the principal, despite being the asshole's father, was understanding. Lucifer bragging about what he'd done and insisting it wasn't that big a deal probably had something to do with it. Either way, he was suspended for two weeks. You'd gotten off with a warning to just report him next time.

As if.

When had telling the teachers helped anyone other than the offender?

Sighing, you made your way to the principal's office. Snickers and whispers followed your every step. People who knew you teased. Others just watched. Most, however, were on their way out, rushing to leave the hell that was school, happy to be done with their day.

Oh, how you wished you were them.

You gave the door a soft, timid knock. Upon being called in, you opened it and stepped inside the small but tidy office. Paintings adorned the walls, along with diplomas from prestigious schools. The spacious, polished desk was riddled with pictures of the Shurley family, both joint and separate.

The principal sure liked to show off.

Principal Shurley was seated at the desk, clad in jeans and a white T-shirt. Looking more like a student than a principal. His sons must have been proud to be seen with him.

There were two chairs in front of his desk. Rowena occupied one, her bag in her lap, fingers playing with a loose piece of thread that hung from it. Her eyes threatened to raise hell, while her mouth promised heaven, scowl and smile both prominent, seemingly at war with each other. Trying to keep up appearances, but failing to.

You couldn't fault her. The last thing you wanted was to waste precious time in the principal's office while your friends waited for you.

"Take a seat," principal Shurley told you in an overly friendly manner, as if he were your friend rather than an authority figure.

You did as asked, sliding your school bag to the floor by your feet.

"Am I in trouble?" you inquired.

Rowena's eyes narrowed in suspicion as she watched you. You responded with a roll of your eyes.

"Oh, no, no," the principal said "Not at all. Neither of you are in trouble."

Something good, at least.

"Why are we here, then?" Rowena asked, trying her hardest (and failing, in your opinion) to keep her displeasure behind a wall of fake courtesy.

If principal Shurley noticed it, he didn't comment on it. Instead, he said, "I just need to talk to you guys a bit. Nothing bad, I promise."

As soon as he said that, you knew it was a lie.

Principals didn't call students to their office to chat about the weather, or the new episode of their favorite show.

They especially didn't call in students who happened to dislike each other.

You were in trouble. You weren't sure what kind, and what Rowena had to do with it, but you were sure it was nothing good.

As if this day wasn't bad enough as it was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited by Brittany Mahon.
> 
> Credits to my friend Janice for all the information about the American school system.


	2. Community Service

"I talked to Ms. Hanscum," principal Shurley said happily. Too happily for a conversation like this.

"Okay," you said, frowning.

Rowena looked just as confused. More so, actually. She was, after all, one of Ms. Hanscum's best students.

Unlike you.

_Shit._

Was this about the test? About your complete and utter failure? About Rowena looking around like she owned the place, all high and mighty?

You shot her a dirty look. _This is your fault,_ it said. If she weren't such a diva, none of this would be happening.

She responded with equal measure.

"She says you're struggling, Y/N," the principal said.

Rowena flashed a smug smile. You wanted to wipe it off her face with your fist.

"Math and I don't really get along," you said with a shrug.

Principal Shurley nodded. "Ms. Hanscum agrees."

She would, considering she'd been your math teacher since Freshman year.

"She thinks you need help, and I agree," he continued.

 _Shit._ "What, like extra classes?" No way in hell were you staying at school late, or coming in early, to study math. You would rather fail. "I appreciate the offer, but no thanks. I've got… obligations." Like sleep. And the internet. And outings with your friends. Like a normal teenage girl. "I wouldn't be able to make it."

The principal chuckled. "Nothing like that," he assured you, and you sighed in relief. "You almost failed Math two times now, right?"

"Yeah," you said, dejected. You weren't too fond of discussing your grades — your _bad_ grades — with Rowena MacLeod within earshot.

"You were pretty close in your Freshman year, too."

It wasn't a question.

You still nodded.

"Ms. Hanscum is worried you'll have trouble graduating."

Seriously? You huffed. "It's only one test," you pointed out. "School literally just started."

"Exactly," the principal agreed. "And you started it poorly."

"I'll do a make up exam."

"Ms. Hanscum tells me you tend to do poorly on them, too."

You did. Usually, you only passed make up exams of make up exams. It was hard work, but hey, it was something. A hard-earned D was still a D.

"I manage," you said.

"This is your senior year," the principal said, "and Ms. Hanscum thinks — and I agree with her — that we should try to take care of the problem at the start. So that you don't struggle later."

How lovely of them.

"What are you saying?"

He cleared his throat. "We think tutoring would benefit you immensely."

You barely held back a laugh. "I can't pay for a tutor," you said.

Even if you could, you wouldn't. There were much better — much more fun — uses of your money than on school.

"I don't mean hiring one," principal Shurley said. His mouth widened into a grin bright as the sun in summer. "That's why I called you both here. Rowena is Ms. Hanscum's star student. Her grades are exceptional. Not just in Math, but in other subjects."

 _Yeah, yeah,_ you thought. _Rub it in, why don't you?_

Then it dawned on you, and your eyes went wide in panic, in sheer shock.

No.

No way.

Hell, no!

He couldn't be implying what you thought he was implying. He surely wouldn't…

_No!_

You threw a quick glance at Rowena. Her pale face was white as a sheet. Knuckles taut as she squeezed them into fists.

"She could tutor you," the principal said.

"No!" you exclaimed.

"No bloody way!" Rowena said at the exact same time.

At least there was something you both agreed on.

"Language," the principal chastised without really meaning it, earning him an eye-roll from the redhead. "Why not? Rowena, you're one of our best students. Y/N, you struggle with math. You guys could help each other out."

Rather, Rowena could help you out. You had nothing to offer in return.

As if she'd read your mind, she said, "What's in it for me?"

Rowena MacLeod never did anything for free. Everything had a price with her.

"Extra credit," the principal said.

"I don't need extra credit," she pointed out. "I've got perfect grades."

"You also have things on your record colleges wouldn't be happy with."

You pulled on a smirk, a tiny one. Little Miss Perfect may have been a good student, but she was also a brat. She argued with teachers almost as much as she kissed their asses; if they didn't fall for the former, she resorted to the latter.

Rowena huffed. "Are you blackmailing me?"

"I'm simply saying, if you agree to tutor Y/N, you will get extra credit _and_ a clean record."

Sounded like a great offer.

For _her._

You, not so much.

"I don't want her to tutor me," you said. There was only so much smugness, eye-rolls, and temper tantrums you could handle. "My friend Sam can help me out."

"Sam Winchester, right? He's a Junior."

"He's very smart."

"I don't doubt that. He's one of our best students, second only to Rowena."

She beamed at that, the smug thing she was.

"But he's also a year behind," the principal continued. "Rowena is in your year. And she's your classmate. She would be a much better option, in my opinion."

 _Not in mine,_ you thought bitterly.

"Sam's my friend," you said in the politest voice you could muster. He would be nice to you. Kind. Patient. Anything Rowena wasn't.

You doubted she was capable of anything other than bitchiness.

"I get that," principal Shurley said. It didn't seem like he did, or cared to. Teenage drama surely wasn't something he was interested in. "But I'd say, in this particular case, Rowena is more qualified. I don't see why she couldn't give it a try."

Because she was a bitch. Because she was dating the school's biggest sleazebag — the lovely principal's son — and hung around with bullies. She may not have teased anyone, or shoved them into lockers, or called them fat and ugly to their face, but she was there every time it happened. She laughed along with her gang. Encouraged them to keep going. Watched with utmost joy on her face as they tormented people whose only crime was being unpopular.

Sam may have seen hidden depths in her, but not you. You weren't falling for the secretly-nice-and-misunderstood bullshit.

If she were a nice person, she wouldn't have sucked up to those people until they let her into their group. She wouldn't have joined in on the bullying. She wouldn't have acted like she was above everyone who wasn't in her little circle of friends.

"You'll also get extra credit, if you accept," principal Shurley said after a moment of uncomfortable silence. "It'd help get your grade up."

It would.

It definitely would.

When it came to math, you needed all the help you could get. Extra credit surely would be great.

But at what cost?

You glanced at Rowena. She stared back with murder in her eyes. She needed the help, as well, with her record. And, as much as it quite obviously physically pained her, she was considering the offer.

As were you.

Summer school was a no-go. There was no way you were wasting your precious vacation on school — on _math —_ of all things. Also, if that were to happen, you would be forced to graduate later. If you would be able to graduate at all.

Considering your previous experiences with math, failure was quite possible. Very, very possible, in fact. Almost imminent.

"For how long?" you asked, turning back to the principal.

"What?" he asked, taken aback.

"How long would this tutoring thing last?"

"This semester," he replied. "If you still need more help afterwards, we'll figure something out. For now, the plan is just this semester."

Great.

Three whole months of hanging around Rowena.

Who could possibly survive that?

Crowley was living with her, and he was on the brink of death most of the time. Though, to be fair, that might have had to do with all the booze and weed he stuffed himself with.

You and Rowena exchanged another unfriendly look.

Then, hating yourself even as you were thinking it, you said, "Fine."

The redhead made a disgusted face. You felt the same on the inside.

Getting along already.

Principal Shurley beamed. "You agree to the tutoring?"

"Yeah," you said in the most unenthusiastic tone you could muster. The same one one would use to agree to community service instead of prison.

"That's great!"

He seemed happier about it than you were. Then again, not an ounce of what you felt was happiness, so it was an instant win for him.

"How about you, Rowena?" he asked.

"I don't really have a choice, do I?" she said, clearly unhappy.

"Of course you do!" the principal assured her. "This is all voluntary."

Then why did it feel like you were manipulated into agreeing?

"Whatever," she said with a huff. "I'm in."

She said it in the tone one would use to tell someone their loved one had died.

Maybe it symbolized Rowena's pride dying, in which case, the feeling was mutual. This was even more shameful than the time you got so drunk you vomited your guts out while Crowley held your hair and laughed like the asshole he was.

"Great!" the principal exclaimed way too enthusiastically for the occasion. "This will be great for you guys! You'll help each other out and become friends."

You wanted to laugh. Rowena did so, but stopped when he glared at her.

If anything, this arrangement would drive a further wedge between the two of you.

No better way to get people to hate each than to force them to spend time together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited by Brittany Mahon.


	3. Drama, Drama, Drama

The Biggerson's diner was packed as usual, tables crowded with high schoolers munching on fast food and slurping their beverages. Being relatively close to the school, it was a popular hangout for students before and after (and sometimes during) class. The food and drinks were cheap but tasty, the staff was nice, and they were very liberal at serving alcohol without asking for ID.

In other words, it was a high schooler's wet dream.

You weren't a fan of crowds, but this was one place where you tolerated them. Mostly because Biggerson's had booths for privacy, and everyone pretty much minded their own business and ate their cheap fries in silence. Even Lucifer Shurley. Sometimes.

Today, your gang had claimed a place near the door, by the wide glass windows letting sunlight light up the diner. They waved you over as soon as they saw you walk in, and you were quick to claim your seat. Beside Crowley, as usual. The two of you always sat together.

Across from you were Sam and Castiel, both of whom kept shooting you curious looks.

Crowley, on the other hand, acted like everything was cool. Normal. Wiggled his eyebrows suggestively and grinned at the waitresses who ignored him. The usual.

Your phone was full of messages, all wondering what the hell happened, what principal Shurley wanted from you, what you did to get yourself sent to his office. Demanding you respond and explain this novelty. Wishing you luck. Hoping for the best outcome of whatever the hell was happening.

Crowley had only sent one, though, telling you to stick it to the man.

Your friends, ladies and gentlemen!

"Where's Dean?" you asked. Usually, he and Sam were attached at the hip. Where one went, the other followed.

Sam frowned, having not expected the question. "Practice."

Right. Of course. Jock stuff.

You shot Castiel a pointed look. "Where were you at lunch?"

He blushed as if his cheeks were on fire. The corners of your lips quirked up. Figured it was something like that.

"Meg and I were, um, hanging out. In the bathroom," he replied awkwardly.

You snorted. "Hanging out. Right."

Meg Masters was Castiel's girlfriend. She dressed up in jeans and leather jackets, rode a bike, smoked like a chimney, and had no filter. What she thought, she told you to your face. A blessing and a curse.

She used to hang around Lucifer, but then she met his younger brother, fell in love, and ditched him. Turned out, Lucifer didn't approve. And Meg wasn't a big fan of ultimatum.

She'd made the right choice. Lucifer and Castiel may have been brothers, but they were polar opposites. Castiel was a good person. Kind. Sweet. A tad awkward. Certainly not a shithead like his older brother who would have been out of high school had he not failed two grades in a row.

Third time was the charm, you supposed.

"Moving the furniture," Crowley commented snidely.

Sam and you laughed. _Moving the furniture_ was a euphemism Meg had once used for sex, and it stuck. It was too good — too specific — not to.

"There is no furniture in bathrooms," Castiel said, flustered.

"Toilets count as furniture," you said.

"And toilet paper," Crowley added.

Castiel rolled his eyes, while Sam kept laughing. He wasn't too big on banter with anyone other than Dean.

"You gonna tell us why the principal wanted to see you?" he asked.

"You guys are relentless," you said, grunting dramatically. You held up your phone. "It's gonna take me hours to get rid of all the messages and missed calls."

"We're your friends," he said. "It's our job to spam you."

Fair enough.

"You didn't spam him" — you pointed at Castiel — "when he was moving toilets in the bathroom with Meg."

"We weren't moving toilets," Castiel muttered under his breath.

"Because we suspected where he was," Sam said. "He wasn't in trouble." His eyes widened. "Were you in trouble?"

"I wasn't in trouble," you replied.

Well, you kind of were.

Trouble was relative.

"How did you even know where I was?"

"Charlie heard your name being called."

Of course she did.

Charlie Bradbury was Sam and Dean's friend. A good girl who rarely got in trouble — or rather, caused trouble in a way that wouldn't get her caught.

"You boys are so desperate," Crowley commented.

Sam frowned. "You messaged her, too!"

"Once." Crowley held up a finger. "I sent her one message. Encouraging her."

"Right."

He turned to you. "What did my sister do this time? Do I want to know?"

"Surprisingly, nothing."

Sighing, you told them everything, from beginning to end, leaving no detail to yourself. They listened intently. Grimaced when the tutoring offer came in. Even more so when the two of you agreed to it.

Sam didn't seem too bothered, though. As a matter of fact, he seemed to be quite supportive of the idea.

Crowley made up for it by being horrified and appalled for them both.

"You're a bloody fool!"

"Thanks, Crowley," you snarked. "I really appreciate the support."

"Why am I friends with you?"

You rolled your eyes. Such a drama king, he was. You loved him, but god, he could be annoying when he wanted to.

"Our entire friendship was a lie!" he continued, upping the drama. A true Shakespearean actor. Ready for the stage. "I've been deceived into thinking you were smart. Turns out you're a dumbass like Moose and Squirrel."

Sam, the aforementioned Moose, sent him his signature bitch face that was a threat and disappointment all in one.

"Are you done?" you asked.

"No, I'm not bloody done! It's Rowena. _Rowena."_

His face flushed red as his sister's hair as he ranted, cheeks rosy like ripe tomatoes.

"I did say I'd prefer Sam," you reminded him.

He stared at you. Blinked once, twice, three times. Went over your words, allowed then to sink in.

Then, in the whiniest tone a posh teenage gentleman like him could conjure up, he said, _"Rowena."_

"Jesus, Crowley!" you said, frustrated.

It was far from an ideal situation, but come on!

"One time mother made her help me with homework — and it was all wrong! Made a bloody mockery of me!"

You couldn't say you blamed her. You loved Crowley, you really did, but he was a drama king. No, a drama _queen,_ with a gold crown adorned with shiny diamonds that screamed, loud and clear, _drama, drama, drama._

One thing the MacLeod siblings had in common, you supposed. Aside from their loathing for each other.

"She's not that bad," Sam said, earning another eye-roll from Crowley. He paid it no mind. "You'll see. Give her a chance."

What other choice did you have? You were stuck with her for the entire semester.

Maybe there was some merit to Sam's words. Maybe Rowena wasn't that bad. The two of them weren't friends for nothing.

You chased the thought away with a mocking internal sigh. She was Rowena MacLeod. Her and not-that-bad didn't belong in the same sentence. Sam was the kind of person who saw — or rather believed in — the good in everyone. Just because he thought it was there didn't make it true.

Rowena MacLeod was a terrible person. She wasn't capable of good. Hell, you doubted she was even capable of emotions other than disdain. She loved no one but herself. Cared for nothing but her own gain.

And now you were stuck with her.

"Bollocks," Crowley said, shaking you from your thoughts.

You turned to the direction he was facing, sighing when you saw Rowena and Lucifer enter the diner and look around in search of free seats. She avoided your eyes, the scowl in them, the displeasure, instead exchanging a smile and a small nod with Sam. Just a normal, casual greeting between friends. _Yeah, right!_

A couple had just gotten up to leave, and she and Lucifer rushed to claim their table. Rowena scoffed at the dirty plates and half-empty cups left behind. Her face was scrunched up in a way that would have been cute on anyone other than her, nose turned up. The perfect picture of disgust.

"Speak of the devil," you said.

"I'd say there's two of them," Crowley remarked.

You had to laugh. "True that."

"I was hoping I wouldn't have to see him until later," Castiel said.

He and his brother didn't get along.

"What'd he do this time?" you asked. There was always something with Lucifer. The guy had a penchant for trouble.

"He wanted to borrow my car this morning. I said no, so he tried to steal it. It was a very unpleasant situation."

You should have been surprised, but you weren't. At all. You were quite used to Lucifer's antics.

"Then Gabriel called him a very ugly name, and they got into a fight."

Another non-surprise.

Nothing surprised you anymore when it came to the Shurley siblings. They were even weirder than the MacLeods.

"Hit bloody sibling lottery, didn't we, Feathers?" Crowley commented.

Meg called Castiel Clarence, a reference to an angel from a movie, so Crowley started calling him Feathers. Because he was Crowley and he loved to call people by the nicknames he gave them.

Castiel didn't seem to mind it, though it did take a while for him to realize why Crowley was calling him that. Though, to be fair, it had taken him a while to get Meg's reference, too. He was socially awkward and quite illiterate when it came to pop culture. Poor, innocent soul.

"Lucky us," Castiel said.

Lucky you, too, for joining their little unfortunate family.

You could handle Rowena. You totally could. And you _would._

After all, it was just a few hours. A few measly, incredibly dull hours a few times this semester.

It wasn't like you had to live with her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited by Brittany Mahon.


	4. Beauty and the Beast

_Bollocks!_

As if it wasn't bad enough that she was stuck having to tutor you this entire semester — you and your little gang just had to be at Biggerson's.

Some bloody luck she had.

Poor Sam. The lad deserved better than to be stuck with the likes of you and Lucifer's awkward brother. Not to mention her own brother. Fergus was the lowest of the low. What made Sam want to hang out with him, she didn't know. It certainly wasn't his personality.

"It's our bros," Lucifer said snidely while they waited for their orders to arrive.

"We're so bloody lucky," Rowena deadpanned.

He snickered. "It's like a family reunion."

"Ugh."

Hell to the no.

She resented every cell, every drop of blood, every atom she shared with Fergus. If there was a way to sever familial ties with him, to stop being related to him, she would do it. She would jump at the chance.

Sadly, all she could do was pretend he wasn't there and make snarky commentary. It wasn't nearly enough, but it was something.

The server brought their orders over; Rowena's sandwich and iced tea, and Lucifer's disgusting greasy burger with mayonnaise, ketchup, mustard, and a few other things she didn't recognize and Coca Cola. She didn't like to admit it, but the boy was a pig. Even worse than Dean Winchester. Sometimes she wondered why she was dating him.

Which was stupid, because she knew why.

She _needed_ him.

His horrible sides she just had to deal with.

Nothing in life was free.

"So," Lucifer said, taking a huge bite out of the abomination that was his burger. Red and yellow smears circled his mouth. "You really agreed to tutor Y/N?"

God. Not even Gavin, Rowena's five-year-old brother, ate that messily.

She was dating a toddler.

"I was basically forced into it," she said, shuddering at the memory. Why did Mr. Shurley have to do that to her? She thought he liked her.

He made her tea — bloody good tea — every time she came to visit Lucifer. Was nice to her. Never talked down to her.

Only to pull this nonsense.

It wasn't fair.

She didn't want to tutor you.

She didn't want anything to do with you or anyone else from your little gang. Aside from Sam, who, unlike the rest of you, wasn't a loser.

"Your father's an arsehole."

Lucifer snickered. "Told you so."

He did. Plenty of times. And every time she shook it off, said she thought he was nice.

Biggest mistake of her life.

Raising an eyebrow in curiosity, Lucifer asked, "You gonna do it?"

"I have to, don't I?" Rowena responded, helpless, dejected. Pathetic.

She'd said yes. Had signed a verbal contract. There was no getting out of it now.

He snorted as if it was the most ridiculous thing in the world.

Which it kind of was.

If someone had told her a week ago she would agree to tutor a loser girl, she would have thought them mental. And said so to their face in far less nicer words.

"It's not funny!" she hissed.

"It's hilarious," Lucifer countered, grinning like the arsehole he was. She sure knew how to pick them. "You're not gonna get anywhere with her. She's dumb as a stump."

"Don't you think I know that?"

She would be wasting her time, and for what? A barely solid D? If you even got that. Any future F of yours was on her. If you failed, in the eyes of Mr. Shurley and Ms. Hanscum, she failed as well.

The dumb were incurable, but she doubted they cared about that.

She was expected to perform a miracle. All for a clean record and extra credit.

Some would call it a fair exchange.

Rowena called it nonsense.

"You're smart, babe," Lucifer said, nodding, "but not _that_ smart."

"Thank you," she said sarcastically.

What a supportive boyfriend he was.

"Y/N's a moron. I heard she almost failed math two times."

 _You failed two whole years,_ Rowena wanted to say, but she elected to keep the retort to herself. She didn't want to look as if she were defending you. Even if it was true.

When it came to school, Lucifer was a tool. But what he lacked in brains he made up for in brawn. Evened things up a tad.

"She was close to it Freshman year, as well," Rowena added.

"My, you won the lottery with that one!" Lucifer laughed.

She groaned. "Thanks to your father."

"Like I said, told you so."

One thing was for sure — she didn't find Charles Shurley cool anymore.

With a father like that, no wonder Lucifer was a bastard.

"You should teach her wrong. Make her fail every test," he said, beaming as if he'd just come up with a cure for cancer.

Rowena was mortified. "Do you want my record to get worse?"

He chuckled as if it was the funniest thing in the world. "You're taking this way too seriously." His tone was nonchalant, like he was talking about the weather. "You got a few smudges on your record — so what? Look at me!"

Aye, look at him. Look at his grades. And his attendance. And his behavior. The way things were going, he wasn't going to graduate — again. One more slip and he might get kicked out. Not even his father could get him out of that one.

It was easy for someone like him to judge someone like her.

"Who cares about college?" he added.

"I care!" she snapped. She bloody cared. She cared about her future, which she hoped would take her far, far away from this blasted town. Lucifer could always count on his father to have his back with money. She wasn't so lucky. Her mother barely made ends meet on her minimum wage job. "Not all of us have a daddy with money to take advantage of!"

She knew she'd made a mistake as soon as the words spilled out.

Lucifer glared at her with murder in his eyes. His fingers wrapped around her wrist, tight as rope. Dug into her sensitive flesh. Nails bit crescent marks into her skin.

Rowena returned the glare, hers just as deadly, just as threatening. Fear shimmered under the surface; she willed it back, begged it not to show. She could handle this. She always did.

"Watch your pretty mouth, Rowena," he hissed.

Hit a nerve, did she?

One of her most impressive talents.

"Let go of me," she hissed back. He couldn't grab her like that in public. What if someone saw?

He stared at her for a long moment, let his threat sink in. Then he released her, and clasped his hand over hers softly, gently, as if nothing bad had ever happened. As if he hadn't grabbed her so hard bruises had already started to blossom over her wrist.

There was a time she was terrified of this side of him. Now, after many months, she just accepted it. It was who he was. A part of him she couldn't change no matter how hard she tried. The only thing she could do was accept it.

So he got a bit rough with her from time to time.

He wasn't perfect. Neither was she.

What was she supposed to do? Leave him?

She'd worked so hard to get with him to do that.

A few bruises were nothing in comparison to what he gave her. To what being with him gave her.

Nothing in life was free.

A few moments passed in silence so uncomfortable it could be cut with a knife. Then Lucifer smiled and said in his sweetest, kindest tone, "You'll be a great tutor."

As if nothing had ever happened.

* * *

Rowena's phone rang at exactly nine PM, startling her from her thoughts of boredom. Lucifer and Olivette had invited her out with them and their gang, but after the day she'd had, she didn't feel like being around people.

People were a bother.

Even her friends and boyfriend.

They were, dare she say, an even worse nuisance.

One she'd chosen, but still. She couldn't deal with them. Didn't _want_ to deal with them.

Let them get blackout drunk and make absolute fools of themselves without her.

Seeing Sam's name on the screen brought a smile to Rowena's face. He was her favourite friend. Her only true friend, if she dare say so. He liked her as she was. Treated her with nothing but kindness. Never talked down to her or acted as if she were lesser, as if she owed him something.

The lad was the definition of a best friend.

"Hey," she said in her happy tone she always uses to greet him. He deserved nothing less.

"Hey," he said back. "How come you're home? I thought for sure you'd be at Garth's party."

Garth was the only loser boy the popular kids tolerated, mostly because he often had the house to himself and happily let them party there. And sometimes supplied them with alcohol.

Rowena scrunched up her face in disgust. "No bloody way!"

She hated parties like that. People drinking like animals, and afterwards acting like animals… It was disgusting. Undignified.

Her idea of a party was something more classy, with suits and evening gowns and alcohol in reasonable amounts. Saying that out loud usually earned her raised eyebrows and mocking snickers, but those didn't bother her. After all, she wasn't the one drooling on the floor after shagging a couch thinking it was a person.

Sam laughed. "Figures."

Rowena let out a chuckle of her own. "Why'd you call me if you were so sure I was there?"

"Thought it was worth a try."

"Fair." She had to give him that. "I take it Dean's there."

"Mhm. Texted me a few minutes ago. I can't really make out what he was trying to say, but I'm pretty sure he'd just earned the title of keg master."

Of course he had.

"Impressive."

"Really impressive," Sam agreed through laughter.

"Seriously, though, what's with the call?" Rowena asked, clearing her throat. Usually she and Sam chatted. Quicker and more comfortable than phone calls.

"I, uh, wanted to ask how you're doing. With everything."

Her hand instinctively flew to her wrist, started rubbing it. The place Lucifer's fingers had stabbed into were raw, sore, light bruises already blooming.

She would have to hide them with makeup tomorrow before school.

Not a big deal, she told herself. She'd done it before. No one would notice — they never did. She was a professional.

"The whole tutoring thing," he clarified. "And Y/N."

"I'm… good."

Sort of.

"That's great." He was silent for a few moments, took a couple of breaths for courage, then said, "I know you two don't like each other, but it's gonna be fine. Y/N's not that bad."

It took everything in Rowena's power not to explode into laughter.

You _were_ bad. You were a loser. A bum. The kind of girl who was perfectly content with her place at the bottom of the barrel.

She, on the other hand, had fought tooth and nail to never be there again.

She couldn't understand people like you. Happy in their misery. Lifting not a single finger to change it, to better your lives.

You disgusted her.

"I suppose we'll make it work," she said.

As long as you listened and did what she asked of you, it would work.

Sam sighed. "Can you give her a chance?"

No way in hell.

"Sam—"

 _"Please._ She's not the best student, but she's smart. She just needs a chance."

She could picture him giving her the puppy eyes.

_Bollocks!_

"Fine." The word tasted foreign on her tongue. Foul somehow. "For you. But she'd better be on her best behaviour! I've no patience for slackers!"

"She will be," Sam said, relieved. Elated. "Thank you."

"Like I said, it's for you," Rowena said nonchalantly.

She didn't like you, not one bit. But for Sam, she could pretend. She could tolerate you. For a few measly hours she could forget about the school hierarchy and look at you like a person rather than a loser.

In theory, that was.

It shouldn't be hard, she told herself. After all, it wasn't like she loathed you. You were just an unappealing person, that was all. She could deal with that. Maybe. Sort of. Hopefully.

She _did_ deal with Lucifer.

One loser girl shouldn't be a problem.

"Well, I appreciate it," Sam said.

She knew he did. Thing about him was, he was genuine. A good person. A good friend.

Rowena sometimes wondered what he was doing, being friends with her. What was it that he saw in someone like her?

You, she understood. You were a loser, but, as much as she hated to admit it, you stood for your principles. You were truly, unapologetically you, no matter what she or other popular kids thought. You believed in something.

Rowena wanted popularity. Wanted to be on top of the food chain. And she'd worked her hardest to get there, no matter how many people she had to put down on her way up.

She wasn't proud of it, but it got her where she was now. _That_ she was proud of. Her hard work. Her dedication and effort and drive. Her aim that could, if she wanted so, reach the stars themselves.

People like you looked down on her for that. She didn't particularly care what you — any of you — thought, but…

Sam was one of you.

Technically.

His opinion mattered.

Strange as it was, he seemed to think highly of her. Highly enough to be her friend.

She couldn't comprehend what it was that he saw in her, but she hoped it was something good.

Because, the way things were, she needed someone to see the good in her.

She'd lost the ability to long ago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited by Brittany Mahon.


	5. Working Girls

It was Friday when you next spoke to Rowena.

She seemed intent on avoiding you all week, and you happily returned the favor. The less you saw (and heard) of her, the easier it was to pretend you weren't stuck being tutored by her for the entirety of this semester.

What were you thinking, saying yes to that?

You were an idiot.

Just as the last bell sounded, and you were on your way out, happy to start your weekend, the devil herself had to — just had to — walk up to you and say, "Tomorrow. Quarter past three."

You blinked as if you'd just been maced. "What?"

"The tutoring," she said a tad slower, in an overly exaggerated tone, as if you were dumb. "That thing you're making me do? Remember?"

You rolled your eyes. "You agreed for the same reasons I did. I'm not making you do shit."

She returned the eyeroll, which somehow managed to look even more dramatic, more exaggerated. You wondered if it hurt to twist her eyes like that. And if it did _— good._

"Whatever. You coming tomorrow or what?"

Did you even have a choice?

The sooner you got it done, the better.

"Where?"

"My house," she said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

It kind of was. The way Rowena was, she wouldn't be caught dead with you — alone — in public.

"Sure," you say.

"Need directions?" she asked.

It was your turn to give her the are-you-dumb look. "I've been there countless times."

"Just making sure," she said, shrugging nonchalantly. "Don't want you to get lost."

Olivette, who was standing beside her, snickered.

Rowena smirked.

Nice. Already off to a great start.

"Don't you worry about me, sweetheart," you said condescendingly. Two could play this game. "Just make sure you're home when I get there. Busy girl like you, don't want you to stand me up."

"I won't, _darling,"_ she replied in the same tone. "I cleared me schedule just for you."

"How sweet."

"That's me."

Yeah. Sweet as diabetes.

Olivette pulled her arm, heading for the exit.

"Don't be late," Rowena said over her shoulder as she followed her.

"I would never," you shouted after her.

After the way she acted, you were tempted to. Badly.

* * *

It was three o'clock sharp when you showed up at the MacLeod residence. Much to your disappointment, Crowley was out, doing whatever it was that he did on his own. Probably something not quite legal. Or moral.

You didn't ask.

You didn't care.

Just before you left the house, he sent you a message giving you his honest, heartfelt condolences. How sweet of him.

You hated to admit it, but it was oddly comforting. If anyone knew what it was like to study with Rowena — to be _around_ Rowena for more than a few minutes, all alone — it was him.

Rowena opened the door dressed in something sparkly you thought she only wore to school to stand out.

Apparently, it was her regular attire.

Who would have guessed?

"You're early," she said in greeting, seemingly surprised.

"Hello to you, too," you said.

She scoffed and moved aside to let you in, then closed the door behind you.

The MacLeod house was small but comfy. The kind of house that made you feel right at home as soon as you walked through the door. Aside from their mother's, the MacLeod kids had two other bedrooms; Rowena had her own, and Crowley and Gavin, their younger brother, shared theirs. Not much space for a four-member family, but they made it work.

"Mother's at work," Rowena said. "Fergus is out. It's just you and me. And Gavin."

"Cool," you said.

Their mother was always working. Two jobs, you thought Crowley once said. Bills needed to be paid, and kids were expensive.

"Gavin won't bother us," Rowena said.

"Whatever."

You didn't mind the kid. From what you saw of him, he was a lovely little boy. A complete contrast to his sister.

She took you to her room. It was small, but somehow felt like home. The bed was by the wall in the middle, surrounded by a desk with a laptop on top, a large closet, a dresser, and, much to your surprise, two big bookshelves filled to the brim with books, hardbacks and paperbacks alike, all in seemingly pristine condition.

You would never admit it out loud, but you were impressed. You'd expected something more… pink. And sparkly. Maybe a few pictures of loser kids like yourself hanging on the wall, with targets painted on their faces in sparkly pink gel pen. The popular girl stuff.

Maybe she had those in her closet.

"It's just a room," Rowena said when she noticed you staring, a touch of smugness, of pride, in her expression.

You blushed. "Your books…"

"Aye, I've my own wee library."

A bit more that wee, it was. There were so many books!

"Don't touch anything," she added. "You can look" — she didn't seem too thrilled with that idea, either, but at the same time, she liked to be the one to impress — "but don't touch. I don't want you to damage the books."

You had to roll your eyes. "That's my sole purpose in life — damaging your books."

"For all I know, I might be," she retorted. "You seem like the type."

You cocked up an eyebrow. "Oh, really?"

"We wouldn't be in this mess if not for your _damage."_

Really?

_Really?!_

"You could've refused," you reminded her. "We both know why you didn't." Because little miss perfect wasn't so perfect after all. "Don't put your shitty record on me. I'm not the one bitching out the teachers."

At least when you did it, you did it out of earshot, around your friends.

If anything, Rowena could learn a thing or two from you.

Her cheeks flushed as red as her hair. "If you weren't such a failure, Mr. Shurley never would have blackmailed me!"

Maybe so.

But still…

"Maybe he doesn't like you."

God knew you didn't. Half the school didn't. Just because her group let her into their little circle didn't mean the entire popular scene liked her.

You'd heard the things they were saying about her behind her back. All the names they called her. The jokes they made about her.

Everyone knew the only reason she was popular, that she was someone, was that Olivette felt sorry for her. The same reason Lucifer started dating her Junior year.

Hell, you were pretty sure Rowena knew it, too. She couldn't _not_ know.

But she put up with it. Because popularity was everything, even at the cost of dignity.

Being on top mattered more than anything. More than family. More than the people she'd trampled on her way there.

_Despicable._

Rowena scoffed, looking at you as if you'd just suggested having live snails for dinner. "He loves me!"

You snorted. "Sure. _Everyone_ loves you."

"People with taste do."

"Yeah, 'cause you're so lovable."

"Totally am."

As lovable as a splinter.

"Now, are you here to be rude or to learn?" she asked, changing the subject. "I've had to cancel plans to meet with you, you know. I don't want to waste my time."

 _You_ were the one being rude?

Typical Rowena.

"So sorry you can't make out with your asshole boyfriend for an extra hour this afternoon," you said sarcastically.

She rolled her eyes. "What I do with my time is none of your bloody business! But if you must know, I was supposed to go shopping with Olivette."

So she was in agreement with Lucifer being an asshole.

Interesting.

"My deepest apologies," you said mockingly, earning you another eyeroll.

Books, notebooks, and supplies were on the floor, on a neat pile beside the bed. You lowered your bag containing your own stuff beside them and sat down Indian style. Rowena joined you.

"When's your make up test?" she asked.

"Thursday," you said. You thought Ms. Hanscum would give you more time, but guess not. You had a tutor now. She expected results.

You expected another F.

Rowena sighed. "Well, let's see what it is you're struggling with."

 _How about everything?_ you thought sourly.

"This was in the test," she said, opening the textbook and pointing a perfectly manicured fingernail at the pages in question. "What exactly is it you don't get?"

You slid the book over to you, scanned the pages meticulously. So many numbers and formulas. Odd formations of numbers and letters that made no sense. Solved example problems that looked as strange as a foreign language. Questions you didn't — couldn't — understand, let alone solve.

You blushed as if caught doing something awkward.

This was embarrassing.

"Everything," you mumbled under your breath.

Rowena frowned, confused, curious. "What?"

You swallowed. Breathed in deep and hard for courage. "I said everything!" She blinked. You sighed. "None of this makes sense to me. Might as well show me hieroglyphs. I'll understand as much."

As if it wasn't embarrassing enough that a mean girl like her had to tutor you, you had to admit to your ignorance out loud.

This was fine, you told yourself. Totally fine. If she laughed at you, if she told her friends what a complete and utter idiot you were, so what? Wouldn't be the first time you were made fun of.

You could handle a bit of bullying.

You'd handled it before.

 _Go at it, Rowena,_ you thought. _Do your worst!_

Instead, her hard expression softened. No trace of a smile lingered on her mouth. No teasing glint in her eyes.

She looked… concerned.

What was going on?

"You really understand nothing?" she asked. Her tone was genuine, no mockery in sight.

"Yup," you said timidly, face falling to the open book between the two of you.

"Why didn't you ask Ms. Hanscum to explain?"

What was the point? You still wouldn't get it. Also…

"So you and your friends can laugh at me?"

Rowena looked appalled. "I wouldn't laugh at you."

"Sure you wouldn't." Just like she hadn't looked around at people who'd failed with a smug look on her face. Just like she hadn't stood aside as her friends teased and bullied and mocked people, and laughed along with them.

She was about to respond, but shut her mouth just in time. Good. You weren't in the mood for excuses and lies.

"Why don't we start with the first lesson?" she asked, changing the subject back to the topic at hand. "If you get a hang of that one, the other two will be easier to comprehend."

"Sure," you replied. You weren't expecting much; if Ms. Hanscum, who'd spent years earning her degree, couldn't teach you, you doubted a mere high school girl could.

Still, it was worth a try.

You could use the extra credit, and plus, you'd promised Sam you'd cooperate. Rowena had apparently told him she had no patience for slackers. You didn't particularly care what she thought, but at the very least, you could prove her wrong. You could work hard and do your best. Make her earn her extra credit and clean record.

"Okay, so you see this problem?" Rowena asked, pointing to a set of numbers she'd written down on a piece of paper.

"Yeah."

You wished you didn't.

You had a feeling these numbers would show up in your dreams tonight. And every night after that.

Math was a bitch.

"Do you know how we got 3?"

You shrugged. "Nope."

She might as well have asked you to translate lettering from ancient artifacts.

Rowena sighed. Not quite happy, but not exasperated, either. "Let's look at it differently. What's something you like?" She looked around, lost in thought. "Money?"

"Sure."

Everyone liked money, you supposed.

She grinned. "Great!"

Was that genuine joy on her face?

"Say you have one hundred dollars. I borrow you twenty. Sam borrows you five. You want to buy a… DVD."

That was one expensive DVD.

"What kind?" you asked.

She frowned. "What?"

"What kind of DVD? Like, which movie?"

"Gone with the Wind?" she suggested.

You made a face. "I'd never buy that! Especially not for that much money."

"It's a bloody classic!" she exclaimed, outraged.

Well.

Somebody loved old movies.

"Don't care," you said. "It's old, needlessly long, boring, and, uh, did I mention old?"

Rowena looked as if you'd just admitted to murdering her entire family in cold blood.

"Make it Mean Girls. It's symbolic, at least."

She scowled. "Fine. You want to buy Mean Girls."

"Perfect," you said with a sugary-sweet, diabetes-inducing smile on your mouth.

She rolled her eyes dramatically. Her favorite thing to do, it seemed. "You get to the store, and you find out it's on sale."

"I love sales!"

"Everybody loves sales! Anyway, the DVD you want…"

She went on a long, complicated explanation of prices, tax, sales, calculations, and formulas. At first none of it made sense, just as it hadn't back in Ms. Hanscum's class. But the more she explained, the more details she provided to the imaginary scenario with money and DVDs, it started to settle in.

It took a good ten minutes, but by the time she was done, you understood the problem.

And when she gave you a few problems she'd made up herself to solve, same structure with different numbers, you did it.

Correctly.

Soon the two of you moved on to other lessons. Rowena was surprisingly patient. You expected her to scream and shout and call you names. Instead, she explained everything thoroughly, five times if she had to. She didn't talk down to you. Didn't make you feel dumb for not knowing things that came naturally to her. Didn't rush you or chastise you for taking too long to solve the problems she'd given you.

She spoke softly and kindly, and gave you time to think solutions through.

She was, dare you say, better than Ms. Hanscum herself.

"I think that's about enough for today," Rowena said.

You looked at your phone, eyes going wide at seeing the time.

Two hours had gone by in a flash.

"Yeah," you agreed. "That was way too much math for one day."

Rowena giggled.

It was cute, you found yourself thinking. A strangely cute little sound.

"Would you like to come over tomorrow?"

You blinked. "To study?"

"What else?"

"Isn't that a bit… soon?"

"Your make up test is Thursday, right? It's better to prepare really well." She shrugged. "Not saying you have to. It's just a suggestion."

You didn't want to.

You never wanted to see these numbers — any numbers — again.

You especially didn't want to see them that soon.

But…

Rowena was right. The more you prepared, the more you studied, the better.

It wasn't like you had anything planned, anyway. Sunday was a boring day.

"Okay," you said after a moment of thinking it through. "Same time?"

"Aye."

"It's a deal, then."

"Don't be late."

"I'll be here at three again. Three fifteen sounds a bit weird, to be honest."

She made no response to that. Merely shrugged as if it didn't bother her. "Says you."

"I'll be going, then," you said. "Say hi to Crowley for me?"

"Whatever," she replied, annoyed.

You took that as a yes.

The first session went rather well. You hadn't tried to kill each other _and_ you'd managed to learn a thing or two.

Maybe having Rowena MacLeod as a tutor wasn't so bad after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited by Brittany Mahon.


	6. With Friends Like These...

The Sunday tutoring session went as well as the first one. You still had a long way to go, but at the very least you were starting to understand the few lessons that were on the test.

For a mean girl, Rowena was an amazing teacher. You could tell learning was something she was really passionate about, as was spreading the knowledge she had.

If only she were like that — that patient, that, dare you say it, nice — at school.

You might have even liked her.

Was that why Sam liked her? Her genuine interest in knowledge? Was that what they were talking about when they hung out?

If yes, you could somewhat understand where Sam was coming from. If you only knew her as a dedicated geek, you would like her, too.

But you didn't.

The majority of what you saw of her was meanness. Bullying. Snobbery.

A few hours of studying together couldn't erase that. Couldn't erase the fact that not only had she made the choice to be that way — she'd fought tooth and nail for it.

She was a mean girl by choice.

When the bell rang that Monday, Ms. Hanscum asked for you and Rowena to stay behind. Rowena rolled her eyes. You did the same. You'd had enough of math.

"So," Ms. Hanscum said in her ever-present overly cheerful tone, "how's it going, girls? Made any progress?"

"Yup," you replied. Not as much as she probably expected, but it was something.

"Great!" she beamed. "I knew this would be a great arrangement!"

"It's bloody epic," Rowena mumbled under her breath sarcastically.

You snorted.

Ms. Hanscum frowned. "What was that?"

"Nothing," Rowena said, picture perfect smile mirroring the teacher's painted on her mouth.

Ms. Hanscum grinned big and bright. "I'm so happy for you girls! This'll help you both out. You'll see."

Right. Because being forced to spend time with someone you disliked was so helpful.

"You gonna be ready for the make up exam?"

The question caught you off guard. "Um… well…"

"She totally will," Rowena cut in. You threw her a look she ignored.

You'd gone over a few lessons. There were still a lot of things you didn't get. A lot of things you were insecure about.

You would study, but you doubted it would help much.

The majority of the things that were on the test were still a foreign language to you, and that meant another big, fat F.

"Excellent!" Ms. Hanscum said happily. She reached into a paper bag she had on the desk, took out a donut and bit into it. Pointing at the bag, mouth full and smeared with powdered sugar, she asked, "Donut?"

Rowena made a face as if she'd just been offered rotten meat.

"Sure," you said just to spite her, and took a donut of your own. You took a large bite, basking in the sweetness. "They're awesome!"

"Right?" Ms. Hanscum said. "There's this bakery down the street from where I live. They make excellent donuts! Take another one."

You did as you finished the first one, then bid goodbye to the teacher and headed outside.

"You're disgusting," Rowena said, expression matching her words.

You smirked. "I know."

She rolled her eyes.

"What's with the whole 'she'll totally be ready' shit?" you asked.

"That." She shuffled her feet nervously. Looked around as if in search of spies. "I was thinking — maybe we could study today, tomorrow, and the day after, too."

She what?

"You crazy?"

As if two days wasn't enough.

She wanted to add three more days to it?

"We don't _have_ to," Rowena said, annoyed. "Just saying we could."

"Isn't that a bit much?"

She shrugged. "There's quite a bit we still haven't covered."

"Maybe I don't struggle with that," you said.

She looked at you in disbelief. "Do you?"

If only you didn't.

There was no point lying. "Yeah."

She smirked. Triumphant. Smug. "So, what do you say?" In a nonchalant, overly fake tone, she added, "It's fine if you don't want to. It's _your_ grade."

Did — did she want you to say yes?

"Fine," you said.

Your friends were going to just _love_ you missing out on hangouts to study with her.

"Four o'clock?"

"Works for me."

It was a deal.

* * *

"So?" Dean asked first thing he saw you at lunch break.

"So what?"

But you already knew.

"What was it like, studying with the evil skank?"

The hot topic in your friend group.

"Quite fun, actually," you said.

They all, except for Sam, looked at you as if you'd just admitted to killing a litter of kittens.

Awful, pathetic, and horrible were some of the expected answers.

Oh, well.

You lived to disappoint.

"What?" you said defensively and took a bite out of your sandwich.

Crowley looked you in the eyes, then, seeing you were serious, did the sign of the cross.

You rolled your eyes so hard Rowena would've envied you.

_Seriously?_

He wasn't even religious. His only gospel was _You Only Live Once_ and he lived its word to the fullest.

"Fun? Fun?!" he said dramatically. Loud enough for the entire school to hear him. A few people turned their heads. Most ignored him, having gotten used to his theatrics. "You call spending time with my sister _— alone —_ fun?!"

"Yeah," you said nonchalantly.

His face flushed red as a cherry. Or a bomb inches away from explosion. Which, given the circumstances, seemed like a likely scenario. "That's it!" he proclaimed. "Friendship over!"

God.

What was it that made you want to be friends with him in the first place?

Oh, right — this very behavior.

You sure knew how to pick them.

"Were we ever even friends?" Crowley kept ranting. Eyes wide. Hands flying in all directions as he gestured like a madman. Accent thick in every word. "Was everything a lie? Are _you_ a lie? Do you even bloody exist?!"

"Oh, come on!" you said, irritation sparking through you like a rush of heat.

You were beginning to comprehend why he and Rowena didn't get along — they were too damn similar!

"You've gone team whore!"

You shot him an incredulous look. "'Cause I liked studying with her?"

"That's how she gets you!" he explained. "Pretends to be nice. Sucks you in. Digs the claws in. Then you're hers! You might as well be dead!"

"You're overreacting." You looked around. "Why are y'all so quiet? He's overreacting. Right? Tell him he's overreacting."

"He's overreacting" Sam said.

Your man! "Thank you!"

Castiel frowned in confusion. His signature move. "You really liked it?"

"Yeah," you replied. "She's a great teacher."

Crowley let out an inhumane noise that might have been a squeak.

Or a pterodactyl mating call.

"She is!" you said defensively.

"Wow," Meg said.

Dean scowled suspiciously. "You hit your head? Did _she_ hit you in the head?"

"Jesus Christ!" you exploded, having had enough. Your gang was always a bit weird, but this was ridiculous. This was fucking crazy! "I just think she's a good tutor. Doesn't mean I like the girl!"

"You liked being with her. That's pretty much the same thing," Dean said.

"No, it's not," you argued. "Why do you even care? I mean, Sam's _friends_ with her."

"Sam gets his at home."

The younger Winchester shot him his signature bitchface.

"You _hate_ her," Dean added. "You've _always_ hated her!"

More like _disliked_ her.

Severely.

She hadn't — yet — done anything to make you hate her.

Even still…

"It was just one study session!" you defended.

Meg held up two fingers and said in a deadpan manner, "Two."

"Two study sessions," you corrected. A sigh escaped your mouth. "I don't get what the big deal is. Like I said, she's still a bitch. She's just also a good tutor."

"She'll fuck you over," Crowley said. "She'll play with your heart, then tear it out and _eat it right in front of you!"_

"Okay, drama king," you said exasperatedly. "You're right. You're completely right. Can you stop now?"

"She will _eat it!"_ he exclaimed dramatically.

"I'm starting to think you're jealous."

He scowled.

You smiled, sugary sweet, overdone.

"Don't worry. You're still my favorite MacLeod. Even if you're annoying."

He flipped you off.

You returned the favor.

"I'm no fan of ginger-bitch, but I'm starting to see why she hates drama king here," Meg commented. "So fucking glad I'm an only child."

"Says the girl who sucked Lucifer's dick up until recently," Crowley retorted.

Meg shot him a look that threatened murder. "He wishes. Do _you_ also wish I sucked your dick?"

"I'm not that desperate. Besides, a man my size? You couldn't handle it, darling."

She laughed. "Trust me, sugar, I've handled bigger _and_ better."

She squeezed Castiel's arm as she said that, prompting him to blush crimson and turn his head.

Crowley snickered. "Never a real man, then."

"Clarence is plenty real," Meg said. Her way of calling him _angel._ "You? A waste. Might as well change your name to Tiffany and parade around in a pink dress."

Damn.

She was ruthless.

"I'd still look bloody fabulous," Crowley said, head high in feigned pride. "Better than Feathers here. You two are perfect for each other."

"Why, thank you!"

"It wasn't a compliment."

"It was to me."

"You take everything as a compliment. Like all those things Lucifer said to you. The rumors he spread. All compliments, right?"

Meg scowled. He'd hit a nerve. "Piss off, _Fergus."_

Uh oh.

There was a reason he'd insisted that everyone — including the teachers — called him Crowley. He hated his birth name. Loathed it to the depths of his soul. He claimed it sounded like a venereal disease and hated his mother for giving it to him.

Rowena, naturally, insisted on calling him that and only that.

His friends, on the other hand, called him as he preferred.

Meg sure knew how to run her mouth.

But then, she wasn't his friend. The two of them could barely stand each other, and had only hung out because she was dating Castiel, who in turn was sort-of-friends with him.

Calling them acquaintances would be generous.

"I'll piss on you, Meg," Crowley retorted.

Meg grinned. "Oh, you just know what turns me on, don't you?" she purred.

He flipped her off.

She laughed.

Good ol' Meg and Crowley. Always a great distraction.

As they bantered, Castiel, as well as you, Sam, and Dean stood there awkwardly. Unsure what to say. How to react.

Then you revealed that you would be studying with Rowena today, tomorrow, and the day after, and, to your grievance, all the attention and drama was back on you.

* * *

"You _what?"_

Olivette was livid. She remained calm, but her tone, the strain in her voice, the ice on her face were dead giveaways of the storm that brewed inside. Tranquil fury. Lightning before the rumbling thunder.

As expected, she hadn't taken the news of Rowena having three tutoring sessions with you this week well.

Neither did Lucifer, but he, at the very least, had the decency to keep his anger to himself.

"You're really tutoring Dumbo three days this week?" he said. "Seriously?"

"It wasn't my bloody idea!" Rowena said. "Ms. Hanscum said I had to. And tried to force-feed me donuts."

She made a face.

Olivette made an even more disgusted one. "That bitch is such a pig."

"I drew the line at that," Rowena said.

Okay, so she said a wee lie. Or a couple. Or a bit more.

She couldn't exactly admit it was her idea. What would that look like?

A shudder ran through her at the thought, cold as ice.

"So you can't hang out today?" Olivette asked.

Rowena shook her head. "Or tomorrow, or Wednesday."

'What about us?" Lucifer whined, pouting like a child.

She pulled on a smile. He was an arse, but he could be impossibly cute when he wanted.

"She doesn't care."

He said something not very nice under his breath. "This is such bullshit!"

"I'll make it up to you," Rowena said, lacing fingers through his. Squeezing them together in a tight knot. Her eyes wandered from his to Olivette's. "Both of you. Friday night, I'm all yours."

The truth was, she was looking forward to studying with you more than the outing she'd arranged with them.

She thought having popular friends would be the best thing ever, but the truth was, it was the opposite.

She hated it.

Hated watching Olivette and her little posse bully girls they deemed fat and ugly and boys they deemed unworthy of looking at them.

Hated watching Lucifer shove kids into lockers and threaten them for nothing but the sheer thrill of it.

Hated being there when it happened.

Hated laughing along with them, encouraging them without a single word as their victims' eyes wandered to her in search of help, of mercy, only to turn down in disappointment at finding none.

A part of her knew it was worth it. The life she had — she'd fought for it. So what if a few people had to suffer?

At least it wasn't her.

Never again.

Now, she was on top of the food chain.

Didn't mean she had to like all it entailed.

She needed an out. A vacation. A wee bit of time away from it all. Needed something to make her forget all the bad she did — all the bad she was still doing.

She was a good tutor. A bloody great one.

And, for a girl who never did anything to better herself, you made for good company.

You did as told. It took you a while from time to time, but you did all the work she gave you. Contrary to what she thought, you weren't dumb. You just needed a bit of guidance.

There were sarcastic remarks and eye-rolls, often mutual, but other than that, tutoring you was a pleasant experience.

It was, dare she say it, fun.

"You'd better," Lucifer purred, then pressed his lips to hers in a hungry kiss.

"I promise," Rowena muttered as they parted for breath. Then his lips were on hers once again, and she gave herself away, let him do with them as he pleased.

That was the way things worked between them. She gave. He took. Anything he wanted, he could take, no questions asked.

Just like Olivette and her posse.

Oh, well.

Everything came with a price stamped on it in large, bolded letters.

Rowena knew what she was getting into.

She'd made her bed. Now she had to lie in it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited by Brittany Mahon.


	7. The Test

Time had gone by in a flash of boredom and numbers, and before you knew it, it was Thursday and Ms. Hanscum's face, smiley as ever, was mere inches from yours as she set the test down in front of you and wished you all the best.

Rowena had prepared you well last night. So well, in fact, that you'd ended up dreaming of numbers. Equations and formulas that now made slightly more sense twirled and roiled in your head like a hurricane. Made you nauseous, lightheaded, but you shoved the sensations back, put on a face a soldier would envy.

You had to remain calm — as calm as your racing heart allowed. Your palms were slick with sweat, forehead beaded with it. Your throat felt dry as if stuffed with cotton.

 _It's a fucking test,_ you told yourself. A make up one, but still a test. You'd had dozens, if not hundreds of them so far in your life.

You'd never, on the other hand, had a tutor before. Aside from Sam, who helped you out from time to time, you'd never had anyone study with you, show you how things are done, correct your wrongs and teach you right.

Rowena was your first, so to speak.

Lucky you.

What if you failed again?

What if all that hard work was for nothing?

What if—

 _Stop it,_ you told yourself. You could do it. Rowena had made sure to cover all the basics. Made sure you knew them by heart before ending the session last night. You knew enough for a D.

You _would_ get a D.

You just had to concentrate on what you'd studied, what you'd worked on all those days. It wasn't that hard. Rowena had made it not hard. You owed it to her, at the very least, to pass.

You'd meant what you'd said. She was a great tutor. An excellent one. Better than even — god, it pained you to say it — Sam. Mean girl or not, she'd gone above and beyond for you.

"Don't fuck up," she'd told you just before you'd entered the classroom. Her way of saying good luck, you supposed.

You'd do your best not to.

You looked over to her, expecting the usual smugness, the superiority that seemed to be permanently etched onto her face. There was none. Instead, she gave you a smile, small but encouraging, and a nod, followed by a wink.

Genuine. All of them.

Well.

That was unexpected.

But then, she was getting something out of this arrangement, as well. She might not have needed the extra credit, but that record of hers was in need of a good cleaning up.

Her wanting you to pass was for her benefit.

Even still, you appreciated it, giving a nod back.

Her reasons didn't matter. She had a job to do, just as you did. It was business.

It wasn't like you were friends.

She owed you nothing.

Your real friends were on your side. Cheered you on and wished you luck and promised to treat you at Biggerson's after school.

One good thing to look forward to, at least.

* * *

It had taken Ms. Hanscum two weeks to grade your test.

Two whole weeks of agony, of wondering, of nervousness. Of dreams of failure and summer school.

Every time you'd asked the teacher, she'd claimed to be busy and had offered you a donut in apology. You were starting to hate the damn things. You wanted your grade, however it was, not over-sugared fried dough!

You'd had one tutoring session with Rowena, just to go over the lessons that had been covered in class in the meantime. She didn't seem too worried.

"You know what Ms. Hanscum's like," she'd said. "She's a bloody ditz!"

She let you vent, though, and had made similar comments in response to your words. It was almost… comforting. Like she wanted you to feel better.

More strange genuineness from her.

You weren't sure what to think of it, so you pushed it to the back of your mind and focused all your energy on your test.

Grade now, Rowena's weirdness later.

"I'm sorry it took so long," Ms. Hanscum said that Friday, two weeks and a day after you'd had your test. She'd found you in the hallway just as the last bell of the day rang and had asked to talk to you for a bit, claiming it was important.

You didn't like the sound of that.

'Important' was teachers' code for 'you're in trouble.'

"I've been really busy."

"It's fine," you said, forcing on a smile you hoped passed for the real thing.

It was not fine.

"I have to say," she said, sun-bright smile never leaving her face, "this is not what I expected at all."

You froze. Heart stopping. Skipping beats.

Uh oh.

"It's surely a surprise."

Through trembling lips, you uttered, "How-how bad is it?"

Ms. Hanscum looked at you as if you'd just confessed to killing a puppy. "Bad? Oh, no!" She gave a small laugh. "It's not bad. Quite the contrary."

You swallowed, hard.

_What?_

Opening up her bag, she pulled out a piece of paper and held it up for you.

A big, red C+ adorned the right corner.

_Holy shit!_

You mouthed to say it out loud, but closed your mouth just in time.

A C+? A C+?!

You'd gotten a freaking C+?

No way!

This had to have been a joke. Ms. Hanscum was just messing with you.

There was no way in hell you'd gotten a C+!

"Congratulations, Y/N!" Ms. Hanscum said cheerfully.

You took the test from her. Looked over the numbers you'd written down. The formulas you'd studied hard to remember. The problems you'd solved — correctly.

Your first test was filled with fat, red Xs, lines, and notes pointing out your mistakes.

Compared to that, this one was almost bare.

"This-this is my test," you uttered, in complete and utter shock.

"You betcha!" Ms. Hanscum beamed.

"I got a C+."

"You sure did!"

"This is… wow."

Heat rushed through you. Your heart raced as if you'd run a marathon. It was getting hard to breathe, hard to think. Hard to stand still, for everything in you screamed at you to dance and jump and shout like a hyperactive child.

A grin broke out on your mouth. A wide, genuine one. Straight from the heart. From the bottom of your soul.

You did it! You passed.

And not only that — you got a much higher grade than you anticipated.

Having Rowena as your tutor didn't feel like such a nightmare anymore.

* * *

You knocked on the door of the MacLeod residence at exactly three in the afternoon.

Habit, you supposed.

Instead of Rowena, though, you were met with Crowley's confused face.

"Hello, girl," he said, smile ready on his mouth, eyes shining devilishly.

"Hey," you responded.

He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. "Did I forget our date?"

Classic Crowley.

"You wish," you said. "I'm actually here for your sister. She home?"

He looked at you as if you'd just offed his entire family. Eyes narrowed into slits. Features coated in suspicion. Mouth inches away from opening wide, letting the jaw hit the floor with a bang.

The drama mode was on.

You raised up a forefinger in warning. "Not a word."

You weren't in the mood for his theatrics. God knew you'd had enough of those ever since you'd started studying with Rowena.

Today was a good day. Special. You weren't going to let him ruin it.

Crowley put his hands up in surrender.

"Good boy."

He scowled, but said nothing. Instead, he stepped aside to let you in, turned his head, and shouted at the top of his lungs, "ROWENA! YOUR STOLEN FRIEND IS HERE! GET YOUR BLOODY ARSE DOWN!"

Stolen friend?

Seriously?

God.

You chose him, you reminded yourself. Exactly for this kind of behavior. He was too fascinating _not_ to befriend.

Past you was an idiot.

Rowena descended the stairs in a patter of feet, bare, pink-painted toenails glittering under the fluorescent light. Her hair was up in a bun, a neat one, not a single hair out of place. Her makeup was perfect, and her outfit, casual as it was, was flawless.

The girl lived for show.

And there you were, thinking she was dressing up for you all those times you were here to study.

"That was rude," she said, glaring daggers at her brother.

He simply shrugged.

She rolled her eyes. "Arsehole."

"Bitch," he retorted.

"Mother should have aborted you!"

"Mother should have smothered you and blamed it on SIDS!"

Wow.

Sibling rivalry you got, but this?

Damn.

"Um, can we talk?" you said before anything else awful could be uttered.

Rowena turned to you, smile painted on her mouth; pleasant, so sweet it made you sick. As fake as Dean's boobs that one Halloween when he dressed up as a slutty cheerleader. And had managed to bang one such cheerleader later on that night. Somehow.

"We weren't supposed to meet today," Rowena said.

"Nope," you confirmed. "There's just something I need to tell you." She raised an eyebrow, and you quickly added, "It's important."

It didn't seem as though she believed you, but she motioned for you to follow her up to her room anyway. Better to get it over with as soon as possible. For all you knew, she might have had arrangements with her asshole friends. You didn't want to intrude on their gossip sessions or whatever it was they did when they were alone.

"I talked to Ms. Hanscum today," you said as she closed the door behind you and seated herself on the bed. You elected to remain on your feet, standing in front of her. The news was too big, too exciting, to sit while relaying it.

Rowena looked up at you. "Oh?"

You gave a small nod. "She graded my test."

This piqued her interest. She tried to mask it, but her ever expressive face betrayed the curiosity, the interest, behind the veil of nonchalance.

She cared about your grade. You didn't understand it — weren't sure you ever would be able to understand it, understand _her —_ but, for reasons known to her only, she seemed intent on getting you to succeed. She took her tutoring seriously. Taught you everything you needed, repeated it over and over until the numbers were carved into your mind, impossible to forget. She'd studied with you five days in a row for that test. Gave up hanging out with her friends just so you would be prepared.

You told yourself it was because her extra credit and record depended on it, but a shadow of doubt itched at you. Annoyed you to the point where you had to consider that Rowena MacLeod had ulterior motives for wanting you to pass the test. Motives that, for once in her life, weren't selfish.

It was a silly thought. Maybe she was just a perfectionist. Maybe she wouldn't be able to live with herself if someone she taught failed.

Or maybe she genuinely wanted you to pass.

These weeks of studying with her taught you one thing — there was more to this mean girl than met the eye. Layers she hid well, that existed nonetheless, hidden beneath the surface of coldness and indifference.

"And?" Rowena asked.

You grinned. Big, wide, happy beyond belief. "I passed!"

Her eyes widened, shock written over her face. "You did?"

"Yup! C+!"

You still couldn't believe it. A D you expected, anticipated even, but a C+? It was unreal. Felt more like a daydream, a fantasy, than reality. A part of you still wondered when you would wake up to a big, fat F on your paper and Ms. Hanscum's disappointed face looming over you.

"Bloody hell!" A smile spilled over Rowena's mouth. A genuine one. Overjoyed. _Proud._

Of herself? Of you?

"I thought it'd be a D or something," you admitted.

She scoffed. "Please! _I'm_ your tutor. No protege of mine gets a D."

You raised an eyebrow. "Protege?"

"Aye," she said smugly. "What else?"

Fair point. "Minion seems more like your thing."

She scoffed.

You chuckled. "Or slave."

"You're hilarious."

"I am."

"You learn that from Fergus?"

"A lady doesn't tell."

She snorted. "A lady."

You rolled your eyes in response.

Was this… banter? Were you bantering with Rowena MacLeod; queen bitch by her own volition, smug and proud snob?

Well.

Seemed the high grade had gotten to your head.

You looked at Rowena. Looked at her smile, at the light in her eyes. All true. Straight from the heart.

A miracle, really.

Did she mean it? Was she a good actress, or was everything real? Was her joy real? Did she—

Wait.

"What's that?" you asked.

"What?" Rowena said, confused.

"That on your neck." You pointed to a darkened spot peeking out from under the neckline of her shirt.

No — a few spots. Thin and elongated. Rich purple in color.

"Are those bruises?"

She quickly pulled the shirt up, hiding the marks. "It's nothing."

"Rowena—"

"I fell, okay?" She smiled again, this time hurriedly. Fakely. "In the shower." Her cheeks flushed red, and she turned away. Glued her eyes to her curled up toes. "It's really embarrassing."

"Okay…"

It wasn't okay. At all.

Had someone hurt her? Had she gotten into a fight?

Or was it really just a freak accident?

"Don't tell Fergus," she said after a few moments of silence. "I don't want him spreading this around."

"Sure."

It wasn't really something Crowley would spread around (he did rumors, not accidents), but there was no harm in keeping it from him.

It wasn't like she was asking you to lie for her. Or withhold the truth.

It was harmless.

Just like her _accident_ was harmless.

And it _was_ an accident. It had to be. You were seeing things that weren't there. You'd seen too many movies.

"So," Rowena said, "you still up for tomorrow?"

The tutoring session you'd agreed to.

You nodded.

"Three?" she said with a chuckle.

You returned it, giving another nod. "Three."

She grinned.

More genuineness.

No trace of deception.

It was ludicrous, but, from the way things were going, you were starting to think she liked studying with you.

And, as much as it pained you to admit it, you were starting to like it, as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited by Brittany Mahon.


	8. Mean Girls with Nice Faces

Studying with Rowena was awesome.

There — you said it. To yourself, in your mind, but you still said it. Admitted it.

It pained you to do so, but still.

The Rowena MacLeod you knew was a proud mean girl who worked hard to get that way and didn't let silly things such as kindness and decency get in the way of her dreams of high school popularity.

The one who tutored you, though…

It was a different girl.

That Rowena was patient. Kind. Attentive. She seemed genuinely invested in helping you out, improving your grades. At times, it seemed, even more than you.

It was weird.

Unreal.

Impossible.

And yet…

"I think I get it," you said after she'd explained it for the third time. Thinking it through to make sure, you worked your way through solving the problem she'd given you. Slowly and meticulously. But, you were pretty sure, correctly.

The weeks have gone by in a flash, and with them your tutoring sessions. You and Rowena met at least once a week; two or three times if the lessons Ms. Hanscum covered happened to be particularly hard.

Meeting Rowena didn't feel like a chore anymore. If anything, it was fun. Sometimes you even looked forward to it, much to the chagrin of your friends.

Crowley was the worst. You'd never seen someone so dramatic before in your life.

Thankfully, Sam was there to even things out. He was supportive of the whole thing. Happily chatted with you about new lessons you and Rowena would be covering. Kept saying how happy he was for you, that you managed to learn something.

You were happy, too.

You never thought learning could be fun.

And you never, in your wildest dreams, thought Rowena, of all people, would be the one to make it that way.

Life was strange.

Rowena watched as you worked, intrigue sprawled over her face, mouth curled in a small smile. Like a child about to open a present and hoping for what she wanted while accepting, and still anticipating, the possibility that it could be her cousin's hand-me-down. Content, no matter the result.

If anything, it seemed she enjoyed explaining things. Even when she had to do it over and over, she seemed genuinely happy. Sometimes she even smiled, wide, teeth and all.

You'd never seen her smile like that at school. Around her friends. Around her _boyfriend._

It felt almost like a privilege to see it. Like a dirty little secret only you were privy to.

"Well, well, well," she said, clicking her tongue. She took the paper from you, observed it. Scanned it with her eyes like a hawk tracking a prey. "Someone's been paying attention."

"I take it I did well?" you said, a touch of playfulness in your tone.

"You did excellent!" she beamed. She took a few breaths, fell silent for a moment as if in contemplation. Then she said, "When we first started, I thought you were dumb. You've proven yourself to be quite smart."

That stung more than you liked to admit.

It wasn't exactly a surprise. You were well aware she wasn't your biggest fan, and neither were you hers. And given your grades, you hadn't left the best impression.

And also…

"And I thought you were a bitch," you said with a shrug.

And she'd proven herself not to be.

She'd proven quite… friendly, actually.

Rowena's face fell, but she forced on a smile. "A lot of people think that."

True.

Even some — if not the majority — of the popular kids.

"Well, you kinda are," you said. "At school, at least." You looked at her. Locked eyes with hers. "Why aren't you like this at school? Nice, I mean."

"I am not nice!" she insisted with a huff, lips puffing up in a pout.

Sure, she wasn't.

And you were Santa Claus.

"Come on, Rowena," you said. "You don't have to pretend. Being nice isn't a bad thing."

If she was nice, you wouldn't have come to dislike her. You wouldn't have thought badly of her.

Hell, maybe you would have befriended her right when Sam had.

She sighed. "You wouldn't understand."

"Try me."

She frowned at you. Inspected you thoroughly, as if to make sure it was okay to talk, to make herself vulnerable.

She never did that, you realized. Never talked to anyone about herself, about her feelings. No one bothered to show the slightest interest.

Not even her friends.

It was sad, really. She'd worked so hard to be one of them, to be their friend, only to have to hide who she really was.

You thought she would change the subject, and were surprised when she spoke up in a tone of voice you'd never heard from her before.

"When you're nice, people expect things. And take things. Take _everything."_ She chuckled; a cold, bitter sound. "All it gets you is a hug, not a seat at the big boys' table. And I'm bloody tired of hugs."

She stared at you, a challenge in her eyes. _Defy me,_ it said. _Counter me. I dare you._

You wouldn't.

Because you knew what it was like. You understood.

Middle school was hell for you. So many bullies. So many insults and sneers thrown your way. It certainly made you wish to grow hard, to grow bad to protect yourself. To push everyone away and treat them as you'd been treated.

Had Rowena gone through a similar experience?

Had she been bullied?

"Did something happen back in Scotland?" you asked as delicately as you could, careful not to come across as pitying.

The MacLeods were originally from Scotland. Then the father split, and the mother, now single and all on her own with three children, one of whom was a baby at the time, made a decision to move to America. Start a new, hopefully happier life far away from the troubles and bad memories.

It was the summer before Freshman year. Rowena had started high school in a new country. With her milk-white skin, red hair, a sea of freckles, and a thick accent, she stood out. She was different.

You used to think that was part of the reason she wanted to be popular so badly. That, being from overseas, from a beautiful country at that, she thought herself better than anyone, wanted everyone to know how special she was.

But now…

What if there was more to it?

What if it had less to do with her ego and more with self-preservation?

What if all she wanted was to survive?

Rowena smoothened her features, smothered out the distress, the sadness, and pulled on a neutral expression. A horribly fake one. "I don't like to dwell on the past."

Her tone made it clear she wouldn't say another word on the subject.

Fine by you.

It had gotten quite glum here, anyway. Much too serious for a Saturday afternoon.

"So…" Your eyes fell to the paper filled with numbers. Looked them over. Took them in. An empty, idle gesture. You cleared your throat. "Halloween dance is this Friday."

Rowena perked up at that. Her mouth widened into a grin, bright as the sun. "I've already got a costume," she said happily.

"You do?"

It wasn't exactly a surprise. From everything you'd seen (and heard from Crowley), she loved parties. Especially when she got to dress up.

She nodded. "I'm going as a witch."

She was so damn proud of it. Owned it like a queen.

 _Of course you are,_ the snide part of you wanted to say. You elected to keep it to yourself. No point in being mean for no reason.

Even to Rowena.

You still didn't like her, but…

There were parts of her you _did_ like, you realized. Like the way she was when the two of you were alone, no friends to give sarcastic quips, no strangers to point and whisper and laugh. Just the two of you, at ease with each other. Somehow managing to enjoy something as dreadful as math.

"That's great!" you said, and meant it.

You were willing to bet she would look amazing.

Hell, the girl had, at one point, managed to make a beige skirt look amazing.

She would rock as a witch!

"Would you like to see?" she suddenly asked.

"See what?"

"My costume."

You found yourself grinning before you realized what you were doing. An involuntary reaction, led by instinct rather than reason.

Humans were animals, after all.

Like a true animal, you heard something you knew you would like, something you knew would feel good, and reacted.

Positively.

So what if that something was Rowena's costume? Or Rowena in general?

It didn't mean anything.

It was just fascination.

"Sure."

She rushed to the closet and opened it wide. There were so many clothes there. So many dresses and skirts and blouses and pants. All in different colors. Some adorned with flowers and intricate patterns, others shining as if drenched in glitter. So… Rowena.

Below them, at the bottom, were a few boxes, alongside heaps of neatly folded clothes. Shoes, most likely. Or accessories. One was open, and you had to step closer to make out what was inside.

"Are those pointe shoes?"

Rowena startled as if pinched. Panic momentarily flashing over her face, she grabbed the lid and shoved it atop the box.

"They are, right?" you inquired, baffled by her reaction.

She owned ballet shoes — so what?

If anything, ballet was kind of fitting for someone like her. Certainly fit the stereotypes.

"They're old," Rowena said. "I used to do ballet when I was wee. Bloody waste of time!"

You weren't so sure. The shoes looked rather big for a kid's foot. Granted, you hadn't gotten a good look at them, but you could've sworn they looked as if they would still fit her.

Whatever.

If she wanted to be weird about it, so be it.

"You sucked?"

"Badly."

Something told you that wasn't true, but you decided not to pry.

She had a right to her secrets. Even if they made no sense.

Rowena pulled out a dress and held it up with pride.

You gasped.

It was an evening gown, the most beautiful one you'd ever seen. It was long, deep black in color, sprinkled in glitter that made it look like the sky in the middle of the night. All stars, no clouds. A mesmerizing sight.

"It's gorgeous," you said in awe.

Rowena was grinning from ear to ear. Proud. Happy to impress. "Isn't it? It's custom made."

Damn.

She must have sold her soul to afford that.

It was worth it. You weren't into dresses, but this one — this one was worth anything.

"You gonna have a matching pointy hat?" you teased.

She scowled playfully. "Maybe."

You laughed.

She rolled her eyes. "Okay, that's enough. Back to maths."

"But—"

She held up a forefinger in warning. "Maths."

"I'm good with this lesson."

"You know what they say. Repetition is the mother of learning."

"Well, some mothers suck!"

That made her laugh. You laughed along. Happily. Heartily.

Yes.

Studying with her was definitely awesome.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited by Brittany Mahon.
> 
> Huge thanks to miss-moon-guardian for the ballet idea!


	9. Witch's Familiar

You loved Halloween, you really did, but _your_ idea of it was more sitting in front of the computer as the latest horror movie played on screen than a dance full of people you couldn't stand clad in cheap costumes and getting blackout drunk.

Yet here you were. At school. At seven PM. Dressed up as a cat; furry suit, fuzzy ears, and fluffy tail, all black as night.

You looked ridiculous.

No more ridiculous than the girls dressed as slutty nurses, but still ridiculous.

Your friends begged to differ, but then, they looked no better than you so it wasn't like they had any place to comment.

Sam and Dean had showed up in plaid shirts, worn jeans, and brown boots. Basically their everyday attire, but they claimed to be monster hunters. They carried ridiculous looking plastic knives (which still earned them odd looks from teachers at the entrance, one of whom had demanded to inspect said "weapons" despite their quite obvious fakeness) and had painted on some scars and tattoos on their arms. Dean had given himself a scar over his entire face, stretching from the right side of his forehead to his left cheek. Claimed it made him look more badass. Which was actually, strangely, true.

Castiel was an angel, dressed in all white (including the trench coat). He'd stuck a fluffy halo atop his head, and had on a pair of wings, big and feathery. You were tempted to rip out a feather or two. His glare at having seen right through you stopped you in your tracks.

Meg was clad in black leather from head to toe. Her eyes were full black, courtesy of contacts, and she had on wings that looked identical to Castiel's, only his were white while hers were ink black.

And Crowley…

Crowley had on a suit, one that almost looked tailored specifically to him. A crown was perched on his head, black with blood-red crystals. He wore red contacts, making his eyes look like menacing rubies.

"Lemme guess," you'd said the first thing you saw him. "A demon."

He'd looked at you with such offense, as if you'd just insulted his mother. Throwing a quick glance Meg's way, he'd made a face and told you, "King of Hell."

Because of course he was.

What else would he be?

Stupid you.

You didn't exactly have many ideas for your costume. Dressing up wasn't your thing, especially when it came to school-related events.

Browsing the local costume shop, nothing stood out to you as special, as _you._ You were there more as a courtesy. You weren't even sure if you would show up to the dance.

Then you remembered Rowena. Remembered her smile, so happy, so bright, as she showed you her dress.

You _had_ to see her in that dress.

You didn't know why. Didn't understand the euphoria that went through you at the image of her clad in it, of the fabric hugging every curve of her body.

That was when it occurred to you that you could be a cat. A black one.

Witch's familiar.

You wondered if she would get the reference. If anyone would, for that matter.

It was silly, really, but oh, well. It was a school dance, not a castle gala. Silliness was basically law.

"Drink?" Crowley asked. He looked around to make sure the coast was clear, then pulled a flask out of his inner pocket and took a big swig.

Whiskey most likely.

You made a face. "No, thanks."

He shrugged. "More for me."

He took another swig. Then another.

Nice.

The dance had just started, and he'd already started working on getting drunk.

"Easy there, your majesty. Leave some for later."

With a sly smirk, he opened up his suit jacket, revealing three more flasks neatly stashed in each pocket. "A king always comes prepared."

Of course he did.

"I'm not driving you home because of your _preparations,"_ you threatened.

He held his hands up in a placating manner.

"And I'm not helping you walk. You're not drooling on my shoulder. Again."

One time, a few months ago, was more than enough.

"Thanks for the warning, love, but I can handle my liquor," he said in a modest tone that was faker than his title.

You laughed out loud, right in his face.

"What's up?" Sam asked, breaking through the crowd of costumed bodies with Dean in tow. Both held plastic cups filled to the brim with foamy amber liquid that didn't look like juice.

"Crowley's a drunk," you said. Before the _king_ could utter a response (which earned you a middle finger from him instead), you asked, "Where'd you get that?"

"Some seniors snuck in a six pack," Dean said with a shit-eating grin. He took a sip of his beer, then another before finally downing half a cup.

Beer. One of Dean Winchester's weaknesses, right alongside hot chicks, porn, pie, and Jack Daniel's.

You stared at him like a deer caught in headlights. How did one sneak in a six pack?

You decided you didn't want to know.

They were seniors. It was explanation enough. Just like that time Garth Fitzgerald did something that got the entire school evacuated and guys in hazmat suits called in. How? It didn't matter. All that was known was that whatever he'd done occurred in the chem lab and it was an honest to god accident.

It had happened, and everyone had gotten a day off.

And tonight, everyone who wanted would get to party properly.

Crowley opened up his jacket again, flashing the goodies right in the Winchesters' faces. "Amateurs."

Dean's face lit up. "Crowley, my man!"

Crowley held up a hand. "No."

"Come on."

"You get nothing."

"Don't be a dick."

"I'm proud of the title."

He looked it.

"I'll pay you," Dean said.

Crowley raised an eyebrow. "How much?"

The elder Winchester peeked into his wallet. "I got two bucks."

Crowley looked offended. A flicker of amusement flashed over his face. "Generous, but no."

"You're an ass!" Dean whined.

Crowley sighed. "Need I remind you what happened last time?"

Dean, drunk out of his ass, had stolen and then drank his entire stash. And had gotten so sick he'd almost ended up at the ER.

Crowley knew better than to let his guard down around him. Fool him once and all that.

"I was wasted back then," Dean said.

"And you'll be wasted this time. Not on my account." Crowley shooed at him as if he were a pesky stray. "Off you go."

Dean did, in fact, go away, became one with the crowd, but not before holding up a middle finger.

"Charming," Crowley quipped with a smirk.

"You guys should just fuck and get it over with," you teased.

You knew Crowley would happily take that option. He never said anything, but you could tell he was attracted to Dean. And Sam. And Castiel. Maybe even Meg and you.

Crowley was attracted to everyone. Flirted with everyone. And, if given the chance, slept with everyone.

You still loved him to bits, but only as a friend. He was attractive, and funny, and could be sweet when he wanted to, but he was your friend. That was what you loved him as. Nothing more and nothing less.

"I'm in if he's in," Crowley said suggestively.

You laughed. If he were a girl, it most likely would have happened yet.

Sam, through a laugh, said, "I'm gonna go find Eileen. See if she wants to dance."

Eileen Leahy was a cute and sweet Sophomore girl Sam sometimes saw in the library. They would make an adorable couple.

"Leaves just you and me," Crowley said, cocking up a teasing eyebrow. "Up for a dance?"

"I can't dance," you pointed out.

"You can stand and watch me dance."

An offer you couldn't refuse. "Sure."

It wasn't like you had anything better to do.

Grabbing your hand, he dragged you into the crowd. People were drinking. Dancing. Moving and swaying to the rhythm of the loud, deafening music blasting through the speakers. So many different costumes surrounded you; some good, some terrible, but, despite the quality of their attire, everyone seemed to be having an amazing time.

Without warning, Crowley took your hands into his and started dancing. He was a great dancer. A rather sophisticated one. He moved just the right way. No mistakes, no slip ups. Just good, old-fashioned dancing.

What the hell.

If he could do it, if all these other kids could do it, so could you.

Talent didn't matter.

It was all about enjoyment.

You let Crowley spin you around. Let him pull you in and out. You were stiff, more robot than human, but you moved alongside him, copied everything he did to the best of your — rather limited — ability.

No one paid attention.

No one pointed and laughed.

Everyone was lost in their own joy.

"Where did you learn how to dance?" you asked, shouting to be heard over the music.

"Dance school," Crowley said.

Seriously?

He didn't seem like the type.

But then, it was _Crowley._ Everything was possible.

"What?" he asked defensively.

"You don't look like the type to go to an extra school."

Or school in general.

"Mother signed me up," he said, shrugging. "Quit when I was ten. Seemed like a waste of time."

Now that was more like him.

You chuckled.

"Still got the moves."

"They're great moves," you said.

He spun you around again.

Right into someone's back.

_Shit!_

"I'm so sorry," you said.

The person you'd crashed into whipped around, pissed to high heavens.

Then your eyes met and all anger vanished in a blink, replaced by surprise. A quite welcome one.

"Y/N?"

"Rowena," you breathed out.

It took everything in you to regain your composure. She was gorgeous. Stunning. Mesmerizing. The sparkly black dress fit her perfectly, hugged her every curve as if molded on her body. Her nails were painted black, and she wore a pointy hat adorned with spider web patterns.

_Dear god!_

She was the most beautiful witch you'd ever seen.

"I didn't think you'd come," she said, flashing a bright smile.

Neither did you.

"Thought I'd have some fun, after all the math," you said.

She gave a small laugh.

"How's that going for you?"

"Good. When I'm not crashing into people."

"Och, it was nothing."

Right.

That was why she wanted to rip your head off — until she noticed it was you.

Did that mean you weren't on her shit list anymore? That her mean girl persona didn't apply to you?

What a privilege.

Rowena narrowed her eyes at her brother. "Fergus."

"Sister," he retorted in a rather uninterested tone.

Such sibling love.

"It's so nice to see you guys," Lucifer said cheerfully.

He was dressed in all red, with red contacts and horns stuck atop his head.

The devil.

Fitting.

You flinched, having not noticed him. You were too distracted by the beautiful witch to notice the garbage that came with the package.

Rowena may have become nicer to you, but that didn't make her choice of boyfriends any less disgusting.

"The feeling's not mutual," you said, then turned to Crowley. "Come on, I wanna get something to drink."

"You're leaving?" The devil pouted. "What did I do?"

"You exist," you replied.

He dramatically slammed a hand over his heart. "Ouch. That hurt my feelings."

 _Good,_ you thought. _Fucking awesome!_

Rowena gave you a polite smile on your way back. A tad… apologetic.

No.

You were seeing things.

She loved that asshole and, despite the recent change in your relationship, hated you.

And, for some strange reason you couldn't put your finger on, it made your heart feel like it was being picked apart by dull knives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited by Brittany Mahon.


	10. Custom-Made Doll

"What was that about?"

Rowena frowned, confused. "What?"

Lucifer looked at her as if she were slow. "The loser girl."

That made her even more confused. She'd only said hi to you. Maybe gave you a smile. A nice, normal greeting.

Granted, the two of you'd rarely exchanged anything other than eye-rolls, but things have changed lately.

She, Rowena realized with a touch of disbelief, had changed.

Tutoring you had allowed her to see things differently. To see _you_ differently.

You weren't just a loser girl who enjoyed her place at the bottom anymore.

You were a person. A human being. Someone who felt and laughed and learned despite stumbling. Who didn't let obstacles such as confusion and lack of comprehension stop her from reaching her goal.

Rowena respected that.

She — it took everything in her to admit it — liked it.

She didn't agree with your choices in life. Couldn't understand why you hadn't fought harder, dirtier, to be someone. You certainly had potential. Maybe she never would understand it. But…

She could accept it.

You just happened to be different. In a less than flattering way, but different nonetheless.

Like Rowena used to be a long time ago.

She'd learned the hard way that being like that didn't pay. That, to get somewhere in life, she had to aim higher, fight harder. Step on toes, and eventually over bodies.

Maybe you would understand it one day.

Maybe she could help you understand it, the same way she'd been helping you with Maths. What was life if not one big learning curve?

"What about her?" Rowena asked, unsure where he was going with this.

"You friends or something?" Lucifer asked in a tone that made it clear he expected a negative answer.

So she gave it. "No!" And scrunched up her face into a look close to that of disgust to sell it. "No bloody way!"

You were just tutoring pals. Nothing more and nothing less.

She may have seen the good in you, but she wasn't stupid. Befriending you when Olivette and her posse were there, while Lucifer was there, would send her crashing back to the very bottom.

You were acquaintances. A bond formed of mutual necessity. Just Maths and nothing else.

Lucifer didn't seem do buy it. "You seemed quite chummy."

"I just greeted her," Rowena said with a dramatic roll of her eyes.

"Gave her that big smile."

Seriously?

"Am I not allowed to smile at people anymore?"

What was his deal?

Usually he got this annoying when she dared smile at another boy. And even then it was more for show than genuine jealousy.

Was he jealous of you?

Rowena barely held back a laugh at the thought. It seemed exactly like something she could expect from him. He was handsome and popular, wielded so much power both within these halls and out in the streets, thanks to his father's influence, but he had his problems.

A jolt of pain shot through her from the bruise on her abdomen, fresh and blue, as if voicing its agreement.

Aye, he had his problems.

"Just saying, you should be careful," he said with feigned nonchalance. "She's not the kind of person you wanna be friends with."

"Is that so?" Rowena fired. She couldn't hide the irritation from her tone.

"She's a loser," he pointed out.

"I'm well aware."

"You know Olivette wouldn't stand for that."

Olivette didn't stand for a lot of things.

And, frankly, Rowena was getting tired of it.

Maybe she _should_ befriend you. Just to spite her. Just to prove that she still had it in her, that defiant streak that had gone away ever since she joined their little gang.

"I can handle Olivette."

Lucifer chuckled. Mocking her. Taunting her. "Sure you can."

_That does it!_

Rowena pulled her arms free from his. Pushed him away and stepped back, putting some distance between them. Anger pulsed through her like fire in her veins, burning everything in its path. Setting her entire body alight. She'd had enough of his nonsense. She'd had enough of his comments, his subtle (and not so subtle) digs.

She'd had enough of _him._

"What the bloody hell is the matter with you?" she demanded. She was thankful to the music for drowning out her outburst, her voice raised to almost a scream.

A few kids turned their heads to look at them, noticing the tension. Their eyes burned with excitement, with joy at the prospect of new gossip.

A popular girl and her even more popular boyfriend got into it in public. Served to these vultures on a silver platter.

"Come here," Lucifer said.

Before she could voice her protest, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her to the crowd. His fingers dug in painfully, nails biting into her sensitive skin. Another set of crescent bruises to bloom in a few hours' time. A perfect match to those on her abdomen.

Lucifer was quite the artist when it came to her body.

He finally let her go once they were in one of the hallways, a darkened one not occupied by anyone but them. Not even cameras pointed there. A blind spot perfect for arguments.

And god, there was going to be an argument. The storm that was brewing was too strong for light rain and a dash of wind.

"You arsehole!" Rowena snapped, rubbing her sore wrist. It was red, the color of her hair. Soon to be as blue as his eyes.

He smirked. She could tell he wanted to laugh, but held it back. Then his face hardened, and he said, "You can't just go around befriending random losers."

"What's it to you?" she retorted.

"I have a reputation to uphold. I can't have my girlfriend hanging out with a peasant."

Rowena grit her teeth. Her fists curled into tight balls. "She's not a peasant, and we are not hanging out. I'm tutoring her. Because of your father!"

"You're always with her! We barely go out anymore!"

"I see her twice a week, and I see you every bloody day!"

"Well, I don't want you to see her."

Oh, really?

Really?

"I have to," Rowena said. "And even if I didn't, you can't tell me who to see. You don't get to make that choice."

Who did he think he was?

She'd put up with a lot of his shit. This, she drew a line at. There was only so much she was willing to take.

She'd sacrificed her dignity for him. Her pride. Her self-respect.

She wasn't willing to give up the last bit of freedom she had left.

Lucifer stepped closer, shoved his face in hers. In a low, dangerously low, voice, he said, "I made you, Rowena. Olivette made you. A bit of gratitude goes a long way."

She gulped. Her heart fluttered wildly as if she'd run a marathon. Was this a threat? Would he really sink that low?

Of course he would, the rational part of her said. He was Lucifer Shurley. Nothing — no matter how dirty, how awful — was beneath him.

Rowena stepped away. His hand shot up to her arm, keeping her close. A pained hiss escaped her as she said, "Smiling at a lass makes me ungrateful?"

"It's the principle of the thing," Lucifer said.

"Where was the bloody principle when you grabbed her arse last year?" she snapped. "Or did it only become so when she hit you?"

Was that what this was about? Bitterness over your rejection — or rather, self-defense?

His eyes darkened as soon as the words left her mouth. Rowena froze. Went stiff with fear. She knew that look. Knew she'd gone too far.

But, strange as it was, she wasn't sorry. She was afraid, but she didn't regret a single word she'd uttered.

Lucifer's hand lifted from her arm. Then he swung it, and before she could try to put her hands up to defend herself, it whipped against her cheek with impeccable strength. Her head swung to the side. Her flesh stung as if on fire, pounded as if it had grown a heartbeat. Traitorous tears filled her eyes, a few spilling down her face.

Shock hadn't even worn off when he grabbed her by the shoulders and slammed her into the wall. She let out a small whimper, pain searing through her back like blades digging into her, tearing her up one piece at a time.

"Don't turn this around on me!" he said.

"Get off me," she said in a small voice. Too small for her liking. Too frightened.

He responded by tightening his grip. "I own you, Rowena. Don't forget that. As long as you're with me, you'll think twice about who your friends are."

_Maybe I don't want to be with you anymore._

The thought vanished along with his hands. He stepped away, a menacing smile on his mouth. A threat she knew quite well.

With a scornful scowl, Rowena pushed past him, purposely shoving against his shoulder, down the hall. Back towards the happy crowd, high on delight, on laughter, on the sheer joy of the night. Blissfully oblivious to her tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited by Brittany Mahon.


	11. Primadonna Girl

The punch they served at the cafeteria tasted like shit, but you still gulped down the entirety of your plastic cup in one go before squeezing it into a ball and throwing it in the trash can — and missing by a good few inches.

 _Fuck it,_ you thought. There was trash all around anyway, cups and empty snack bags littering the hall.

Nobody cared. Not the teachers, and certainly not the students, plenty of whom were getting drunker by the minute. Cleaning ladies would lose their shit tomorrow morning.

Their problem.

Not yours.

You weren't even thirsty, especially not for the piss this school dared call punch. It just happened to be the first drink you'd laid your eyes on.

Maybe you should have taken Crowley up on his offer.

All you wanted was to get out of Lucifer's sight. To get away from him. To not be near him for even ten feet was way too close for your liking.

Hell, ten _miles_ would have been way too close.

Lucifer Shurley was one of the few people you could proudly say you hated. He was a smug piece of shit who did nothing but cause trouble and get away with it because of daddy dearest's influence. Watching him from afar was one thing. To stand so close…

It made you remember things. Like his hand on your ass. Your fist in his face. His subsequent suspension, and your warning to report any future indiscretions rather than dealing with them on your own.

You hated him.

God, you hated him!

And Rowena dated him.

How she could get past everything he'd done (everything he was, no doubt, still doing), you couldn't comprehend. She seemed like someone who took shit from no one. She'd certainly showcased it. And yet she dated Lucifer without a qualm, without a single issue. Not only that, but she's fought to date him. Hard. Dirty. Walked over still bleeding corpses on her way over to him.

Your attitude towards her may have mellowed out, but you couldn't get past that. You never would, no matter how nice she was to you, how well she taught you.

Some things were unforgivable.

The girl made no sense to you. She was so strange, so… contradictory. There were so many things you didn't know about her. So many layers she'd wrapped herself in, so many secrets she'd buried deep inside.

Who was Rowena MacLeod?

Was she a heartless mean girl who willingly sought the company of bullies? Or was there more to her than met the eye, hidden depths you'd only begun to uncover?

"Crowley?" you asked, the music still blaring, so loud you could barely hear your own thoughts.

He turned to you, sneaking a sip of his whiskey. "What is it?"

"Could I ask you something?" You leaned against the wall beside him, glad you could hear him a bit better, and cleared your throat. "About Rowena."

He groaned. Took another quick sip of the liquor. "That whore and her pimp already ruined my night."

Well.

He wasn't wrong.

Chuckling, you said, "Has she always been a bitch?" He stared as if you'd just slapped him. You shrugged. "Just curious."

Another sip. "Believe it or not, she used to be tolerable."

You could tell it pained him to admit it. To admit there was a time when his sister wasn't cold and heartless. Did they use to be closer? Was there a time when they were as tight as Sam and Dean, when their bickering was loving rather than hateful and they smiled — happily — in each other's presence?

You raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Yes," Crowley said with a nod. "She used to do ballet. She ever tell you that? She'd often dance around the house. Be a nuisance, but not… mean."

"I saw the shoes once," you said. "That when she was a kid?"

"Up until we moved."

The end of eighth grade.

Before high school.

Before America.

"Mother wanted to sign her up for lessons here, but all of a sudden ballet was 'boring' and 'for children.'" He rolled his eyes. "She's been a bitch ever since."

So it _was_ a lie.

Not a big surprise — if anything, you expected it — but you were still baffled. Why lie about something like that? It was just ballet. A hobby. An art.

Why would someone try so hard to hide something good all the while proudly putting the bad out in the open?

"Was she close with your dad?" you asked as delicately as you could. Other than to complain about Rowena, Crowley rarely talked about his family. He never mentioned his father.

"No," he said. "The bastard's always been absent. Him scramming was more of a question of _when_ than _why."_

"Could've still affected her."

He snorted. Gave a small laugh as he drank some more of his whiskey. "That would've required some sort of relationship with him. Trust me, love, our father leaving left no scars on her delicate heart. If she still has one."

You weren't so sure. Parents, even absent ones, leaving could affect people in all sorts of ways. Seeing someone once in a while was one thing. Them leaving, never to appear in your life again, was something completely different.

Rowena's meanness could be a coping mechanism.

Which wasn't an excuse, but it did help you understand her — or try to, at least. There were still so many mysteries about the puzzle that was Rowena MacLeod. Some you were certain you'd never uncover.

Didn't mean you couldn't try.

You wanted to understand her. Wanted to see what made her tick. Wanted to know why she was so nice to you when she didn't give a damn about anyone at school.

She was an enigma, and you would solve it. No matter the cost.

You had always loved a project.

"Did she always hang out with assholes?" you asked, testing a different angle. Maybe Crowley was right — maybe their dad leaving left no trace, and instead the reason for her shift in personality, for the monster she'd become, lied elsewhere.

"She barely hung out with anyone."

Interesting.

"Was she bullied?"

"Possibly. She'd get ridiculed from time to time, but I don't know if it ever got to her _'friends''_ level."

His words dripped with sarcasm, but his tone was firm, almost protective. Made it clear that, even though he hated his sister, if he'd found out she'd been bullied, that she'd been harassed and laughed at like Lucifer and Olivette's victims, there would have been blood. And possibly heads being thrown around, ripped straight from the offenders' shoulders.

The MacLeod siblings were weird like that.

"Moving to America fulfilled her dreams of being an absolute bitch," Crowley said. "Probably got inspired by those bloody awful movies. Surprised she hadn't tried out to be a cheerleader."

You chuckled. Rowena totally fit the stereotype. Mean, smug, surrounded by bullies — the only thing missing was a short skirt and pompoms.

Maybe she didn't want to be a one hundred percent stereotype. Changed things up a bit. Instead of cheering, she aced tests and tutored loser girls.

"Anyway," Crowley said as he finished his flask and put it back into his pocket, hand instantly clasping over a new one, "she made her choices. I'm not losing sleep over it. And neither should you."

You stared at him. Blinked.

"Don't overthink it," he told you. "She gave her last remnants of humanity up for popularity. Whatever it is you think you see, it's not there."

"I don't—"

His raised eyebrow cut you off.

Guilty as charged.

For all his dramatics, Crowley wasn't as oblivious as you thought.

You sighed. "She fascinates me."

That made him laugh. "She's a fascinating creature. But a nasty one. Like I told you, she pretends to be nice, cozies up, then digs the claws in. If she's being nice, it's because she's using you."

Made sense.

Except…

"Why would she use me? I have nothing she'd want. I'm not popular. I suck at school. I have like three friends in total."

Neither were you rich. Nor had influence or connections of any kind.

What could she possibly be using you for?

"There's always something."

Maybe so.

But what?

And why?

"I have to go to the bathroom," you said suddenly.

You needed to be alone for a bit. Needed to process everything he'd said, everything you'd learned about the mean girl who lately didn't seem so mean anymore. Were you wrong? Had she tricked you?

Was she really using you?

"Need a chaperone?" Crowley asked with a wry smirk.

"I think I'll be fine," you said in your most deadpan tone. "Wait here."

His hands shot up in a defensive manner. "You know I'm all yours, kitten."

"I'm flattered."

In all honesty, you were grateful. With all your other friends scattered around, you were glad you had Crowley with you. You weren't a people person, especially the loud-music-and-crowds kind. You would've left ages ago if left completely alone.

It took some pushing and shoving, but you finally found your way to the bathroom hall. Thankfully, not many people roamed around here; the main hall was the heart of the party, a magnet pulling everyone in and away from the rest of the school.

The air was stale, but you were able to breathe easier. No bodies pressing against you. No elbows shoving into you and knees whacking into your own. Just you and empty space. Lots and lots of empty space.

Heaven, you'd call it.

A rush of heels clicked towards you, and you looked up. A smile instinctively spread over your mouth at the sight of Rowena.

Then you took in the state she was in and it vanished in a heartbeat.

Her hair was a mess. Her face, pale, beautiful, was red, eyes swollen with tears that spilled from them like a never-ending downpour.

Your heart clenched with worry.

"Rowena?" you said gently. "What happened?"

She forced on a smile. "Nothing."

You raised an eyebrow. "Nothing?"

"Yes, nothing!" she exclaimed.

You flinched.

She sighed, apologetic. "Leave me alone, okay? I'm not in the mood."

She was distressed. Hurt. How could you ignore that?

So you asked the old stupid question, "Are you okay?"

"Yes," she said with a touch of sarcasm. "I am."

"You don't look okay."

She glared daggers at you. Threatened painful and bloody murder. "Mind your bloody business, Y/N!"

Her words were like a whip; sharp, painful, furious. She rushed past you before you could utter a response. Before you could compose yourself and offer up a reaction to her outburst.

No apology.

No regret.

Not even a wounded puppy stare.

She was just gone.

Tears rushed into your eyes, prickled at them with demands of falling free. Your heart ached. Your teeth clenched, fists following suit.

Maybe Crowley was right.

Maybe she was using you.

And whatever she was doing it for, it wasn't enough for her to even pretend to be your friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited by Brittany Mahon.


	12. Rebel With a Cause

Rowena had spent the weekend locked up in her room.

Her absence to gatherings had been noticed. Her phone was littered with calls and messages, all unanswered, ignored.

To hell with them all. With her friends who felt more like accessories than actual friends — or rather, she was their accessory, there to look pretty and smile and laugh as they walked the school's halls as if they owned them and everyone in them, as if they were above the rules and laws. With Lucifer, who'd only sent one message, telling her he missed her.

Missed fucking her, most likely, because she was beginning to think he didn't care about her. Not in a way a boyfriend should.

Her cheek was still red Monday morning, and it took her half an hour to cover the rawness of her skin and make the color look somewhat natural. She was pleased with her work, first thing she'd been proud of in days; makeup was just one of her many talents.

A good boyfriend wouldn't do that to her. He wouldn't push her against the wall, or choke her, or get in her face and yell at the top of his lungs just because she made him mad. Wouldn't leave marks all over her body as a reminder of the encounters, a lesson to choose her words carefully next time lest she wanted a rerun. Wouldn't demand things she wasn't comfortable with, or leave after fucking her without a single word as if she were a toy to be discarded after growing bored of it.

He was using her. Rowena was well aware of that. She was beautiful and excellent in bed, exactly what he liked. She didn't protest much, instead let him take what he wanted, what he _needed,_ whenever he wished. He didn't even have to ask. She — her body, her heart, her mind — was his to do with as he pleased.

But then, she was using him, too. Without him, she didn't have much. She barely had Olivette all on her own. Being with Lucifer brought her so much attention, so much power she'd been dreaming of for ages.

They were a match made in hell. Perfect for each other.

Lucifer may have been hurting her, but Rowena wasn't an angel, either. She talked too much. She was mouthy. Disrespectful. Annoying. After everything he'd done for her, everything being with him had given her, she should have been more grateful.

But, even as the truth of it sank in, she couldn't.

In her almost four years of high school, she'd done everything that was expected of her. She'd followed the unwritten rules to the letter. Kept her head down. Laughed at her peers' humiliation. Snorted at nasty remarks. Helped spread rumors she knew for a fact were nonsense Olivette made up out of nothing but malice and sheer boredom. Never uttered a word of complaint about any of it.

Olivette and her posse, and, by extension, Lucifer led. Rowena followed like a faithful puppy.

Why?

Why did she do that to herself?

Why did she let herself sink that low?

Well, she knew why. But still… Even knowing the root of the problem couldn't explain the depth of the shit she'd buried herself in.

The truth was, she hated it. She hated all of it. Hated bullying. Taking advantage. Standing aside and laughing as it happened.

Even if it was for her own survival, she hated it.

She hated Olivette.

And, most of all, she hated Lucifer.

There.

She admitted it, and she found herself letting out a breath she'd unknowingly been holding.

She hated Lucifer. Loathed him from the depths of her soul. Her body burned with the intensity of the feeling. He was a vile person, a, dare she say it, monster. An abomination.

But, despite it all, she needed him. And she hated herself more than anything, more than anyone, for it.

Without him and Olivette, she had nothing. She was that pale wee girl that smelled of filth, that other kids pointed and laughed at. The girl boys touched without permission and girls called a whore amidst giggles. The girl taken advantage of and thrown away like trash.

The girl she'd left in Scotland.

_Never again._

The memory sent a jolt of pain through Rowena as she walked the busy streets. She kept her head high, kept emotion far away from her face, replacing it with a look of coldness. She ignored the other school kids, ignored the random passersby. Ignored the ache that ripped into her heart like claws.

She had school to get to.

School that wasn't like the one in Scotland.

In this school, she was somebody. So what if her friends were mean to her? So what if her boyfriend roughed her up?

She'd raised to the top with her own hard work and dedication. It wasn't perfect, but it was still an accomplishment. A grand one.

And yet…

This wasn't what she'd signed up for.

She thought being on top meant doing whatever she wanted without consequences. Living the high life without worrying for the rules of society.

Instead, she was met with other, more restrictive rules to follow.

She liked hanging out with you. In all her years here, in America, in this school, you were the first person she truly, genuinely looked forward to seeing. You had no demands. Made no comments on her looks, or her behavior, or things that were out of her control. You didn't order her around or call her names when she made mistakes.

You let her be herself.

The tutoring was arranged, strictly business, but, despite her initial skepticism, it was nice. Pleasant.

Freeing.

For the first time in ages, she didn't have to pretend to be someone she wasn't. She could be smart and share her knowledge with someone who needed it. She could laugh at jokes that weren't mean, that didn't make someone cry.

And what did Rowena do?

She chased you away. She was rude and sent you running — or rather, ran away herself — and ruined everything.

All because you'd shown concern for her wellbeing.

 _Nice going, Rowena,_ she told herself.

She was supposed to tutor you yesterday, but you hadn't shown up. Hadn't even left a message to let her know you wouldn't be there.

After the way she'd acted the last time she'd seen you, she couldn't blame you.

A stubborn part of her resented you for not trying harder, for not reaching out. But she knew in her heart that wasn't how things worked. She was the one in the wrong here. She was the one who'd snapped and left without a parting glance.

And, as such, she had the responsibility to make it right.

She found you in the schoolyard as soon as she stepped in. You were alone, leaning against a tree, eyes glued to your phone. Waiting for your friends to join you.

Should she go over and let you know Fergus was still sleeping and would most likely miss the first two periods? Or would that be too awkward?

Should she talk to you at all?

Olivette was standing by the entrance, engaged in a conversation with the three girls that followed her around; her posse that Rowena called friends despite not really knowing them, Olivette's little carbon copies. Lucifer stood beside them, laughing at whatever it was they were saying. His face was lit up, eyes sparkling with joy, every fit of laughter hearty, genuine.

As if Friday night hadn't happened.

So much for missing her.

Their heads suddenly turned to her as they took notice of her arrival. Olivette beckoned for her to come over as if she were a dog expected to follow every order.

Anger flared inside Rowena, swallowed her up like lava.

She wasn't their dog.

She wasn't their bitch.

They didn't get to tell her what to do.

With a sudden burst of confidence, she strutted over to you and said, "Hey."

"Hey," you said, not looking up from your phone. Barely acknowledging her presence.

Ouch.

She supposed she deserved that.

"Would you like to study today?"

"No, thanks," you replied nonchalantly. "I'd rather _'mind my bloody business.'"_

Rowena sighed. "You know I didn't mean it like that."

You finally spared her a glance. Cocked up a skeptical eyebrow. "Oh, really?"

"I had things going on."

Not that she owed you an explanation.

Or maybe she did. Half of one, at least.

You snorted. "Right."

She rolled her eyes, growing frustrated. "Look, you can either sulk like a brat or get over it. I'm not going to beg on my knees."

"You sure know how to apologize," you said, an amused grin spreading over your mouth.

"I'm not apologizing."

She hadn't said she was sorry in years, and she wasn't about to start. Not with you. No matter how guilty she felt.

"Trust me, I can tell," you snarked.

She groaned irritably. "Do you want to study or not?"

You snorted. Thought it over. "Sure." Sarcastically, you added, "Since you're asking so nicely."

Rowena pulled on her sugar-sweet smile. "Great. Biggerson's?"

You looked at her as if she'd suddenly grown a second head. "You wanna study at Biggerson's?"

"Why not?"

"Won't your friends complain?"

They would.

She didn't give a damn.

For the first time in ages, she didn't give a damn what they thought.

"Won't yours?" she retorted.

"I can handle mine."

"As can I."

You eyed her, not quite buying it. "Okay, I'll bite. Meet me here after school. We'll go together. Unless there's some rule against a girl like you leaving with a girl like me."

There most certainly was, but, feeling rebellious, Rowena didn't care.

"Works for me."

Lucifer and Olivette were staring, faces creased with confusion, sprayed with disapproval.

Good.

Let them wonder.

Let them pretend they cared.

Rowena MacLeod was nobody's fool.

She would do what she wanted. Hang out with whom she wanted.

If they were her friends, if they truly cared about her, they would support her.

If not…

Well, good riddance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited by Brittany Mahon.


	13. One Girl Revolution

Rowena was strangely chill with you at Biggerson's. She ordered her tea and instantly got down to business as if you weren't in a crowded diner filled to the brim with your schoolmates. Some of whom threw glances every now and then, as baffled by the situation as you were.

It wasn't every day that a popular girl hung out with a loser girl out in the open without a care in the world.

And yet, that was exactly what Rowena was doing.

She wasn't ashamed of being seen with you. Wasn't ashamed of spreading her books across the table as if it were the floor in her room. Wasn't ashamed of pointing to her notes and explaining things to you; quietly, as was polite, but still publicly.

She just did it.

As if it was the most normal thing in the world.

As of it was something she did every day, a habit she was proud and fond of.

You'd almost forgotten her outburst Friday night.

It was a silly thing to get mad about in the first place. She was upset, obviously so. You should have left her alone instead of prying. Should have let her be.

After all, it wasn't like you were friends.

You had no right to offer her comfort she quite obviously hadn't wanted.

She had Olivette there for that. She'd been at the party, dressed up as a witch along with her posse. A bitchy little coven. None quite as stunning, as striking as Rowena.

No other witch at the party could measure up to her.

A strange ache squeezed at your heart as your thoughts raced, jumbled, a mix of words swirling around your head like a hurricane. You tried to concentrate on the lessons Rowena was explaining, but your mind was elsewhere, miles away from math and numbers and even the delicious smoothie you were sipping on.

Instead, the constant in your head, the one thing you could focus on (despite trying your hardest not to), was Rowena.

The softness of her words. The patience as she went over everything written down in her notebook, one detail at a time. The smile painted on her mouth, so relaxed, so genuine. The warmth in her eyes that never left, even when Lucifer and Olivette walked in and made faces at the sight of the two of you buried in math.

The two kept giving you stink eyes, especially Olivette, whose scorn was painted over her face in plain sight, naked to the world, but Rowena didn't care. She remained focused on her work, on new lessons you barely understood. On the pencil she clutched and the problem she'd written down and solved while explaining every step of the way.

For once in almost four long years, Lucifer and Olivette didn't matter.

She only had eyes for you.

And you reveled in it. Your heart fluttered every time she'd look up and ask if you understood what she'd done. Jolts of electricity went through you every time your hand would brush against hers, a feeling so warm, so pleasant you found yourself craving it.

You wanted to be her friend.

The realization hit out of nowhere, as strange as it was unexpected.

Yes, you thought, weighing everything in, sorting it through. You truly, genuinely wanted it. Even if Crowley was right, if she was using you, you enjoyed her company. You wanted to hang out with her more.

You didn't know why. She was still a mean girl, still a part of a bad group of people. Still dated the school's biggest asshole. But she was also nice, and funny, and so damn friendly it made your head spin.

A complete contradiction, that girl was. A mystery you were intent on solving.

A, hopefully one day, friend.

"You guys had an argument or something?" you asked suddenly, cutting her off amidst explanation of some formula you knew right then and there you would never grasp.

Rowena raised a questioning eyebrow.

You shrugged.

She sighed. "Lucifer's an arse."

That prompted you to chuckle. "The sky is blue. Grass is green."

She rolled her eyes.

"You chose him," you pointed out.

"I'm well aware, thank you," she retorted with a glare.

"If you're so pissed, break up with him."

A small part of you lit up with hope, though you knew it was just wishful thinking.

Rowena MacLeod, while nice in private, was still an attention whore.

And what better way to get attention than to date the principal's popular asshole son?

She shot you an incredulous look. "Why in hell would I do that?"

"You said it yourself. He's an ass."

Her expression softened. "He is, but… I… I love him."

If she did, why did she hesitate so much before saying it? Why did the words seem to taste so foul on her lips?

Who was she trying to convince? You or herself?

"Then why are you ignoring him?"

"He pissed me off."

Right.

Of course.

With a heavy lump in your throat, you asked, "Is that why you wanted to hang out with me here today? To piss him off back?"

"What? No!" she quickly said. "I just… it's complicated."

"Right."

You should have known.

You _did_ know.

It still hurt, for reasons you couldn't put your finger on.

Why did it matter? She was a popular girl. You were at the bottom of the barrel. Your worlds didn't mesh together.

Just because you wanted to be her friend didn't mean she had similar desires.

This whole tutoring thing was, after all, just business. Neither of you would have been here if you didn't have to.

"I'm not using you, if that's what you're thinking," Rowena said.

"Yeah. You would never," you said sarcastically.

She flinched as if struck.

A strange wave of satisfaction washed over you.

Now she knew how you felt.

"You think that low of me?"

Her tone was so hurt, so crestfallen it made your heart feel as if it were being torn apart.

There was a time when you would have enjoyed doing this to her. When you would have laughed at knocking her down a peg.

Ancient history.

Things were different now. Better. Not by much, but still better.

"Let's just get back to work," you said.

Rowena was about to say something, but opted not to. Instead, she complied without protest.

Maybe the two of you weren't suited to be friends.

Maybe all it was was fantasy, wishful thinking on your part. A dream that would never come to reality.

* * *

Rowena'd had so much fun she'd managed to surprise herself.

At first she thought she'd made a mistake. Maybe walking out the school with a loser girl rather than her popular friends wasn't such a great idea after all. And spending over two hours in a diner with her, surrounded by books and notes like some lowly nerd while others peeked and watched and sneered was an even worse one.

Wrong.

It was, dare she say it, amazing.

For once, she didn't have to hide who she was in public. She didn't have to pretend to know nothing, didn't have to fake a smile and laugh at things her friends found funny, that she personally found distasteful.

She could just be.

Things were awkward, yes. You were suspicious, and rightfully so; Rowena would have suspected herself, as well. She didn't have a good track record when it came to kindness out in the open.

But, as time passed, you relaxed. Her jokes and soft smiles eased you in, and by the time the tutoring session had come to an end, your own mouth was curled up in a smile.

Hanging out with you, she'd realized right then and there, was easy. Strange as it was, you were an easy person to get along with. Even with your suspicions and concerns that you were being used, which Rowena was adamant were unfounded (though understandable, given her reputation), you were an absolute joy to spend time with.

Much more entertaining than Lucifer and Olivette.

The two of them were there, sitting a few rows away. Rowena could feel their eyes on her. Could feel their glares and disappointed stares. Could feel Olivette's anger, white hot on her skin like sunlight amidst a heatwave, dangerous, cancerous. Vindictive.

She would get hers.

There was a time, as recently as a few weeks, when that would have frightened her.

Now, brimming with newfound confidence, Rowena was anticipating it.

It was time she set her foot down.

Stepping into her front yard, she froze at the sight of a familiar figure, tall and blond and looming, sitting on the front steps.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded in a no-nonsense tone. She wasn't going to let him ruin her happy day.

"Your idiot brother wouldn't let me in so I had to wait out here," Lucifer said with a pout that was adorable, but didn't make Rowena any less mad at him.

She grinned. Fergus wasn't as dumb as she thought.

"What are you doing _here?"_ she repeated, putting more emphasis on her words. Her accent instantly thickened, a common side effect of her anger. People usually found it terrifying.

Not Lucifer. He found it hot.

No matter what she did, how angry she got, how loudly she shouted, he was never intimidated by her.

Being twice as strong and popular tended to give one's ego a boost.

Lucifer smiled. "I wanted to talk."

"That's a first."

Usually he just cozied up to her, showered her in kisses, took her to bed, and bam! He was forgiven. Just like that. Until he snapped and put his hands on her again.

He didn't talk. He didn't apologize. He gave, but only so he could take. And she let him, because she was an idiot and the thought of everything she'd lose, of everything he could take away, terrified her much more than a few bruises.

Lucifer sighed. "Look, I know I acted like a dick."

She had to snort at that.

Another first.

He continued, ignoring her dismissal, "I _know._ There's no excuse for what I did."

What, exactly, was that? Telling her what to do? Snapping at her? Pinning her against the wall? Slapping her?

Being a bloody awful person — boyfriend — in general?

The list of his crimes was longer than The Odyssey.

Rowena quirked up an eyebrow, not believing a word that came out of his mouth. "Is that so?"

"Yeah," Lucifer said with a shrug. "I'm a jackass."

Understatement of the century.

"Is that why you came here? To tell me things I already know?"

Her tone was cold as her stare. She wasn't backing down. If he wanted to get back into her good graces, he would have to work for it.

He sighed. Opened his mouth to utter a no doubt nasty remark, but elected to keep it to himself.

Smart boy.

An uncomfortable, deafening silence settled on them for a few moments, before he uttered, "I'm sorry" in the tone of a child forced to apologize to his classmate for bullying him by his teacher. Whiny. Not really meaning it. Only doing it out of necessity.

But…

He still said it.

He didn't want to, but he still apologized.

Because he knew what he'd done was wrong.

Because he knew he could lose her.

Despite every nerve, every cell in her body screaming at her not to fall for it, Rowena's heart swelled up with warmth.

Yes, he'd been a major asshole. Yes, he'd put his hands on her. But he still wanted her. He cared enough to stomp on everything he stood for, everything that made him him, and apologize.

He'd never apologized before.

She hated him. God, she hated him. With the burning passion of a thousand suns.

But she also loved him.

A part of her did, anyway. A traitorous part that whispered to give him another chance. To let it go like she always did.

She would.

As soon as the apology fell from his mouth, she knew that she would. Hell, even before that.

The two of them could never stay mad for too long.

They were using each other. But, in some twisted way, they cared about each other. Not like real couples; they were way past that. It was their own form of affection, foreign to the rest of the world. Foreign even to them sometimes.

Rowena hadn't forgiven him. She couldn't. _Shouldn't._ But she could put it behind her. For now.

There were only about seven months left of high school, and then she was free. She never had to see him or Olivette or any other numbnut from school ever again.

She could handle seven more months of an unstable relationship.

She was Rowena MacLeod. She survived. And she would survive this.

"I'm not going to stop tutoring Y/N," she said matter-of-factly. If she had to put up with his temper tantrums, then he had to put up with her spending time with you. It was only fair.

"I don't want you to," Lucifer said.

"Or hanging out with her," Rowena added.

"Fine," he said, though his tone made it clear it was everything but fine. "I don't care. I just wanna be with you."

 _Me, too,_ she wanted to say, but she knew in her heart it wasn't true. She wanted what he had. His power. His influence. His popularity. But him? She could do without.

He was just a means to an end.

A means she had some feelings for that she couldn't comprehend. Was it even love? Or was it something else? If yes, then what?

Why was it so confusing?

If she had to choose, she would rather be with you.

The thought came out of nowhere, startling her. But as she pondered on it, she realized it was true.

She preferred you to Lucifer.

You were nice to her. You didn't tell her what to do. Didn't hit her. Didn't expect her to be something — someone — she wasn't. Didn't do anything, or say anything, to hurt her.

You were a good person. A loser, but happy. Unapologetically yourself.

You thinking lowly of her hurt her. She understood it, understood your distrust and suspicions, but that didn't make it hurt less.

Disappointing Lucifer was a goal.

Disappointing you was torture.

The thought of you abandoning her hurt more than the thought of losing Lucifer. Of losing Olivette, and her posse, and the power they all wielded and shared with her.

She wanted it. All of it.

But she wanted you more.

And she couldn't understand why.

Rowena narrowed her eyes. "Buy me dinner tomorrow."

Lucifer grinned. "Your favorite restaurant?"

"Where else?"

"You got it, Red."

She smiled. "Good boy."

He walked over to her. Clasped his hands gently over hers. Tangled their fingers into soft, loving knots. "You still my girl?"

"What do you think?"

Their lips locked in a kiss, soft and sweet. Passionate, but caring. The kind of kiss he gave her whenever he wanted her forgiveness. A wordless promise things would be better even though they would not. Not for long.

She was still his girl.

She would be his girl for the following seven months.

What other choice did she have?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited by Brittany Mahon.


	14. The Scream Queen

Rowena wasn't kidding about hanging out with you publicly. In the weeks that followed, you hung out with her more and more, much to the chagrin of your friends.

"She's a snake! Dug her bloody claws into you and won't let go!" Crowley'd said during one of his signature dramatic rants about his sister and all the different ways she was using you and stealing you from him.

Having run out of arguments ages ago, for nothing you could say would convince him there was no way Rowena was using you as you'd hardly had anything she'd want, you'd simply said, "Snakes don't have claws."

Dean wasn't too happy with the situation, either. Neither was Castiel, but he kept his commentary to himself, while Meg found the whole thing hilarious. The more dramatic Crowley got, the more amused she was. Which usually led to the two of them bickering, something you welcomed as it got attention away from you.

Sam was the only one who supported yours and Rowena's budding friendship. Not that you called it that. For all intents and purposes, the two of you were just acquaintances doing schoolwork in public. And in private. And sometimes telling jokes and laughing instead of doing said schoolwork. As acquaintances did.

As annoying as your friends were, you knew there was no malice to their actions. They were just protective. Especially Crowley, as he knew best how Rowena was and didn't want you to get hurt. But neither he nor the rest of them knew the true her. The one that flashed warm, genuine smiles. The one that spoke in a soft voice as she explained problems over and over, endlessly patient. The one that was sweet and kind and acted more like a friend than an enemy behind closed doors.

You finally understood why Sam was friends with her. He'd been the first one to get to know that side of her. Now that you got the privilege, you could see why they understood each other so well. What made their friendship work so well despite their differences in social standing.

Having his support meant the world to you.

"Your taste in movies sucks," you said one late November evening, looking over Rowena's DVD collection instead of studying. All classics. The majority black and white.

Rowena put her phone down and huffed. "As if yours is better."

You flashed her a grin. "Mine's fun."

"Mine is cultured," she retorted smugly.

You snorted. "I'm pretty sure culture existed after…" You looked for the latest release in her collection. "1975."

She shrugged. "I prefer the classics."

"I can see that." An idea dawned on you like a light bulb flashing on. "We should get you up to date."

Rowena raised her eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"Yeah," you said, confident. Decisive. "We should go to the movies. Watch something new."

"You must be joking!"

"Nope. Gotta introduce you to some new culture."

She raised an eyebrow. Curious. Suspicious. "And what exactly would we be watching?"

"The Slashing."

It was a horror movie that had recently hit theaters. Most popular horror reviewers raved about it; you couldn't wait to see magnificence for yourself.

Rowena made the same face she'd made when Miss Hanscum had offered her donuts. Disgusted. As if someone had murdered her entire family. "I am _not_ watching a movie called _The Slashing."_

"It's a good movie," you argued.

"If nudity and gratuitous violence falls under your definition of good."

As a matter of fact, they did.

"Reviews say there's not _that_ much nudity."

She scoffed. "Is that supposed to convince me?"

"There's shirtless guys," you said with a shrug.

Covered in blood and most likely getting violently murdered. But hey, shirtless guys were shirtless guys.

"Now you're really grasping at straws."

Guilty as charged.

"Please? I've been wanting to see it for ages," you said.

"Nothing's stopping you."

"I don't wanna see it alone."

"Take Fergus."

"I don't like going to the movies with him. He always talks, and he insults the characters."

"Then you're out of luck."

Hopefully not.

"Can't you go with me?"

"Sorry, love. Horror is not my genre."

"You might like it."

She fixed you with a stare. Narrowed her eyes in curiosity. "Why do you want me to go?"

"Because."

_Because I think we're becoming friends._

_Because I think it'd be nice to spend some time with you in the dark, high on adrenaline, far away from math and black and white classics._

_Because you're a mystery and I want to solve you. I want to know who you truly are. Because…_

_I think I like what I see._

You shrugged, adding, "It'd be fun to hang out. Now that we're not hiding in your room all the time."

Rowena thought it over, eyes never leaving you. Did she see what you saw? Was she having as much fun as you did? Or was this all strictly business Principal Shurley had imposed on her?

She seemed to genuinely enjoy your time together, but for all you know it could have been a mask. Rowena was different from most people. She hid her feelings — her entire self — well. Had built up a wall around herself to keep everyone at a distance. It was hard to tell who she really was.

One thing you were one hundred percent certain of was that she wasn't the mean girl she presented herself as at school.

But who she actually was was a mystery.

"If I accept, then you have to accompany me to a place of my choosing," she said after a few moments on contemplation.

"Is this blackmail?" you asked, quirking up an eyebrow.

"A trade," she said simply.

Fair.

You could live with that.

"Sounds good to me."

Her mouth widened into a smile. "Excellent! In that case, I will go with you to see The Slashing." Her face scrunched up at the mention of the title. A cute little expression. "But if I don't like it, I will walk out."

"You a scaredy cat?" you teased.

She blushed scarlet as her hair and turned her head. "No."

"Sure you're not."

"I am not scared!"

Of course she wasn't.

"Whatever you say." Before she could utter a retort, you said, "It's a deal. If it'd _bad,_ we leave."

This was going to be fun.

* * *

It was the last day of November and it was cold as hell itself. The ice in the air bit at your exposed skin; even through thick layers of clothes and a scarf covering your neck and mouth, you were shivering as if under a fever.

Maybe going to the movies, in this weather no less, was a mistake. Maybe you should've waited a few more weeks and pirated the damn movie like a normal person instead of freezing your ass off in below zero weather for an hour and a half of half-naked teenagers getting murdered on big screen.

One look at Rowena, in her maroon coat and knee-length red boots, told you it was worth it.

It wasn't every day that you got to take her to the movies.

Loser girls and popular girls didn't do that sort of thing together. As per the unwritten rules of your school's social hierarchy, their worlds didn't mesh together. _They_ didn't mesh together.

And yet, here you both were.

Freezing, but close to your destination. Determined. Stubborn despite the awful weather.

"I bloody hate winter," Rowena commented as soon as you stepped into the theatre.

It was warm inside, pleasant, comforting, and you let out a breath of relief as the cold in you started melting.

You never wanted to go outside again.

"Technically, it's still Fall," you said.

Rowena glared, not in the mood for technicalities. "It's _cold."_

You shrugged. "No argument there."

Despite the horrid weather, there were still plenty of people around. Parents with overly excited children. Tired people just getting off work, eager to relax after a day of hardship. Groups of high schoolers giggling. Couples holding hands and popcorn.

You and Rowena oddly fit in.

Did you look like a couple to observers? Granted, you weren't holding hands, but you'd gotten here together, and you'd exchanged banter.

Friends, people would think. Definitely friends.

A feeling much alike disappointment swept over you. You pushed it down, ignored it. You and Rowena were sort-of-friends. And that was how it would stay.

You cared about her as a friend.

Nothing more and nothing less.

 _Just friends,_ you reminded yourself. _Just friends._

You paid for the tickets, prompting Rowena to raise her eyebrows in surprise, bought some popcorn, and the two of you went to take your seats. The theater was packed, mostly with teenagers and young adults. Thankfully, none of the faces you saw looked familiar. If they went to your school, you didn't know them.

Not that you were ashamed to be seen with Rowena. But there were some things that felt more private, more intimate. Things that were too special to be spread around school in the form of rumors riddled with half-truths and blatant lies.

Things like watching a movie with a friend. In the dark. Far away from wandering eyes and cruel whispers. From blond, blue-eyed assholes' stares and nasty bitches' glares.

"Treating me, are you?" Rowena said.

"I invited you," you replied. It was only fair that you paid.

"Fair point," she conceded. With a teasing note in her tone, she said, "I take it this is a date, then."

A rush of heat spilled over you, burning at your cheeks. A lump formed in your throat, hard to swallow.

"A total date," you said with as much sarcasm as you could, praying to all deities you could think of that it was convincing enough. Thankfully, the room was dark enough to hide your flushed cheeks, but your voice, your rushed breathing and racing heart were all yours to deal with.

Traitors.

What was wrong with you?

You liked Rowena, but she was still a mean girl. She was still friends with bullies and in a relationship with a jackass. Even if she was single, you would never go out on a date with someone like her.

You only liked her as a friend.

Right?

_Right?!_

Rowena chuckled. If she noticed you were flustered, she didn't comment on it. "A bit too cheap for my taste," she teased.

"My sincerest apologies, madam. I wasn't aware of your price demands."

"Aye." Her shoulder brushed against yours as she shrugged. "I'm a restaurant girl."

"High end, I take it?"

"What else?"

You had to laugh. "Unfortunately, I don't think there are movies here that'd fit your standards. You'll have to live with it."

She laughed along. "I suppose I will."

"We got popcorn." You offered her the tub. "It's close enough."

She made a disgusted face. "No, thank you."

"Your loss," you said with a shrug and shoved a handful in your mouth.

"You are a pig," she said, not really meaning it. A mock insult from one friend to another.

You playfully elbowed her shoulder. "You're on a _'date'_ with said pig."

"Starting to regret it."

"If it makes you feel any better, we can blame this all on Principal Shurley. He's the one who made you tutor me."

"Bloody bampot," Rowena said in agreement.

You raised the popcorn up like a glass of champagne about to click against another. "Amen to that."

As soon as the movie started, the murmur of voices quieted down. Your eyes were glued to the screen, adrenaline pumping through you as the characters screamed and ran for their lives. There was beauty in horror; danger that wasn't real but still felt so vivid, fear that made your skin crawl and your heart race in excitement, blood that looked so fresh and bright on the big screen. Not many people understood that. But here, in this room, it seemed like everyone did.

Every now and then your glance would wander to Rowena. This wasn't her scene, but despite clear distaste on her face, she still watched. She took everything in. Every deathly scream. Every shift in music. Every splash of blood. Her body twitched, and you could tell it took everything in her to contain her screams. But, like the strong girl she was, she still watched.

She didn't leave. Didn't even go to the bathroom to get away from it all. She was scared, but she still stayed.

You admired that. Admired the dedication. The stubbornness.

She wanted to be here with you. Wanted to hang out with you.

A pang of regret pulled at your heart.

You never should have doubted her.

A piercing scream suddenly echoed through the room as the killer jumped out from behind one of the few remaining characters. It died down along with the girl as the knife bit into her flesh, slashed her up from the inside out.

A few people screamed along with her.

A giddy smile spilled over your mouth as excitement rushed through you like a potent drug.

And, as if on cue, a hand covered yours, tiny fingers squeezing for dear life.

You looked down, surprised to find Rowena's pale hand in yours, pink nails glittering in the dim light from the screen.

Her eyes were on the movie. Mouth pressed into a firm line.

An involuntary reaction.

You smiled, squeezing back. Her skin was warm on yours. Comforting. _Right._

Your hands remained linked for the rest of the movie. Every time a jump scare would pop up, Rowena's fingers would tighten around yours. You would return the gesture. A wordless promise that you were there, that nothing would happen to her. That she was safe despite her fear.

As soon as the credits started rolling, the two of you parted. Neither said a word about what happened. Acknowledged it in any way.

No comments were necessary.

You'd held hands.

Longer than was necessary.

Tighter than was friendly.

And it felt so right.

Like it was the way it was supposed to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited by wonderifshelikesroses.


	15. In Sickness and in Health

"Whatever you did to the wicked bitch, it worked," Crowley said, tone rich with approval. Proud to the bone. "Keep doing it."

No good morning.

No hello.

Not even a sarcastic remark.

If you didn't love him, you would have shoved him.

"Good morning to you, too," you said, earning you a smug smirk. _Jackass._ "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Sam threw his signature bitchface at Crowley and rolled his eyes. Dean seemed amused, and Castiel looked out of place as usual. As if he'd suddenly found himself surrounded by strangers and was too awkward to get away. Classic him. Meg, clutching his arm to keep warm, was smirking, intrigued by whatever drama (and it most certainly was drama. With Crowley's uninhibited approach, it could hardly be anything else) was happening.

Well, shit.

What had you walked into now?

"Rowena's sick," Sam said.

"Oh." You forced your face to remain neutral. Shoved down the concern that nibbled at you like an army of fire ants crawling over your insides. "I can't take the credit, but I'm sure she'll be fine."

She was Rowena MacLeod.

She survived.

"She picked up some nasty ailment while on your little trip to the cinema ," Crowley said with disturbing joy. "My sincerest gratitude. Granted, it's annoying to listen to her whine at home, but at least I don't have to look at her at school. And she got knocked down a peg. That's always a pleasure."

"I'm so glad I could help," you said dryly.

It wasn't like you intended for her to get sick.

If anything, the purpose of going to the movies was to have fun. To show her there was more to movies than black and white classics.

Wait…

How did Crowley know where you went? Had someone from school seen you and spread the rumor? Or had Rowena told him in a rare moment of sibling bonding?

"You went to the movies with her?" Dean said in the tone that hoped the answer would be negative.

You weren't at all sorry to disappoint. "I did."

"Seriously?"

"Uh-huh."

What did he want you to say? That it wasn't true? That he'd dreamed it?

You were with Rowena Saturday evening. Watching a horror movie. Holding hands.

Your heart swelled up with warmth at the memory. Your hand still tingled where hers held it. Where her tiny fingers squeezed with impeccable strength.

"So, what, she's your friend now?" Dean said, accusation clear in his tone.

Your hands balled into fists at your sides, anger flaring through you like lava in your blood. Why did he care? Why did any of them care? Who you hung out with was none of his business.

"Why do you care?" you snapped.

"Because she's Rowena?" he said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "You know, bitch, bully, dating the guy who grabbed your ass."

"I'm well aware of who she is, thank you very much," you retorted. "That still doesn't make it any of your business."

"I'm just trying to look out for you."

Noble, but no less annoying.

It was _Rowena._

Yes, she hung out with bad people. And yes, she dated a douchebag. But you could handle her. Regardless of the people she was surrounded with, she was harmless.

"I can look out for myself."

Dean sighed. "Look, I'm just saying she's not the best company."

"I can make that decision for myself," you said. "Besides, we aren't even friends. We just hang out sometimes. She's my tutor."

He cocked up an eyebrow. "She tutoring you at the movies?"

"For the last time, none of your business."

He raised his hands up in a placating motion. "Whatever, dude. Just be careful."

You smiled sweetly. Too sweetly. Condescendingly. "I'm always careful."

"She got you good," Crowley commented.

"It's none of your business, either," you told him.

"Don't say I didn't warn you."

"Duly noted," you said sardonically.

"I, for one, am glad you guys are hanging out," Sam said warmly.

"Of course you are," Dean commented.

You ignored him, flashing his brother (who was giving him his signature bitchface) a smile. "Thank you. It's nice to take a break from studying from time to time."

"Right," Sam said, nodding, a conspicuous smile on his mouth. "From studying."

Was that disbelief in his tone? A touch of teasing?

No way.

You and Rowena were just friends.

Not even that.

Whatever Sam was implying (or you thought he was implying) would never come to be.

* * *

Ms. Hanscum was going on and on about today's lesson, reminding you with each word why Math was your least favorite subject.

You yawned, exhausted, longing for the warmth of your bed. God, you hated Mondays.

You especially hated Math on Mondays.

As if it wasn't enough that you'd gone to bed late and slept badly and that your friends had all but spat on your budding friendship with a mean girl, you had to listen to numbers and formulas that you didn't understand and Rowena wasn't there to flash you that smile that wasn't as smug as it'd initially looked and give you a look that promised that later on, once she was done with you, you would understand everything. Or at least enough for a D.

You missed her.

You hated yourself for it, but, god, you missed having her in this class.

It was silly; you were well aware of that. It was just one day — one class — without her. She would be back in no time.

You'd spent so much time wishing she would go away and now that it finally came true, you were miserable.

Life was full of irony.

Ten minutes before the end of class, Ms. Hanscum started rambling about the midterm. As if a wave of ice-cold water had suddenly washed over you, you froze, chills making their way down your spine as you watched the white chalk as it scrawled over the board.

There it was — the date of the midterm.

Two weeks from now.

Two measly, lowly weeks.

_Shit, shit, shit._

There was no way you could prepare for that. No way you could learn all the lessons, even with Rowena's help.

You were screwed.

When the bell rung, you quickly gathered your things and rushed out. You needed to be away from this class. Away from numbers and dates and midterms. Away from Ms. Hanscum.

Unfortunately, she had other plans.

"Y/N?" she said in her sweet, friendly voice you found yourself resenting. How dare she be so nice after announcing such a difficult exam? "Could you stay a little bit, please?"

You stopped in your tracks. Sighed. Willed yourself to push the turmoil down. "Of course, Ms. Hanscum."

It wasn't like you could say no.

She waited for the last student to leave before saying, "As I'm sure you noticed, your new friend is sick today."

"She's not my friend," you said, more out of habit than actual denial. She was your friend. Or was on her way to becoming it.

"Right," Ms. Hanscum said, not really buying it. Or not caring about the correct terminology. "I was wondering if you'd be willing to take her homework over to her? With the midterm coming, I don't want her to miss anything."

"I, uh, sure," you instantly said. No thinking it through. Instinct taking over.

You wanted to see Rowena. Wanted to see how she was doing. Bringing her homework over would be the perfect excuse.

As an added bonus, maybe she would infect you and you could miss the midterm.

Win-win on both ends.

"Wonderful!" Ms. Hanscum beamed. She handed you two folded up sheets of paper, smile never leaving her mouth. How could she always be so cheery? While teaching Math, no less. Maybe she was an alien. "Tell her I hope she gets better soon!"

"I will," you said with a nod.

You would be wishing the same thing.

* * *

The last person you expected to greet you at the door of the MacLeods' house was a surprisingly well groomed old man with snow-white hair and an impressive beard.

He looked like Santa Claus who'd lost a couple pounds and replaced his red suit with a black tuxedo.

You eyed him, surprised. Crowley hadn't mentioned having any visitors this morning at school.

But then, he was Crowley. He spent more time at bars than at home.

"Hello, young lady," the man said politely. It was the kind of politeness that was learned, perfected over years. Professional. Somehow, it put you at ease.

"Um, hi. I'm here to see Rowena."

You clutched your bag to you in emphasis. And also because it was cold. Layers of clothes and boots weren't a huge help in this weather.

Winter sucked.

"Of course! Come on in."

He opened the door and stepped aside to let you in, then closed it gently but firmly behind you.

"I must warn you, young miss is sick," he said. "Seems to be the flu. This year's got it bad."

Ouch.

Lucky for you, you got your shot on time.

"I heard," you said sympathetically. "I won't be long. I'm just here to give her today's Math homework."

"That's very kind of you," the man said. "Are you the one she tutors? Her mother mentioned a girl who often comes around for lessons."

"That'd be me."

You smiled awkwardly and started following after him as he led you up to Rowena's room.

"How rude of me. I haven't introduced myself." He stuck out a hand, a kind smile on his mouth. "I'm Guthrie. The nanny."

Nice.

You'd never seen a nanny such as him.

You shook his hand. "I'm Y/N. Nice to meet you."

"Likewise."

He gently knocked on Rowena's door.

"What?" came her instant response. Annoyed. Scornful. So Rowena.

You had to smile. It felt good to hear her voice.

"You have a visitor," Guthrie told her.

She sighed, purposely loudly. "Send her in."

He opened the door and motioned for you to do as told. Rowena was on her bed, sitting cross-legged, clad in cute red pajamas and woolen socks, and wrapped in a fluffy blanket. Her laptop was open in front of her, the screen bright as the light overhead. She was paler than usual. All color was gone from her face, leaving her skin ashen, white as bone. Her hair was messy, resembling a bird's nest.

It was strange to see her like this. Rid of her glamour. No makeup to hide her features. No shiny clothes to cling to her lithe body.

Just a girl like any other.

And she let you, of all people, in to see it.

It felt like a privilege. Like you'd just been granted a priceless gift.

"Hello, sick girl," you said teasingly.

She allowed a smile to graze her dry mouth. "You're on thin ice, lass."

You put your hands up defensively. "Hey, you're the one who let me in."

"I'm starting to regret it."

You chuckled. She followed suit.

"How'd you know it was me?"

"Who else would be here at this ungodly hour?"

"It's three PM," you pointed out. Your designated studying time.

She smirked. "My point exactly."

"Do you need anything, Rowena?" Guthrie asked in the soft, gentle tone of a father concerned for his child's wellbeing.

"I'm fine," she said, exasperated.

He nodded. "I will leave you girls to it, then."

With a small bow, he closed the door behind him and stalked downstairs, his footsteps echoing in the hall.

You raised an eyebrow. "Grandpa nanny?"

"Mother calls him when Fergus and I aren't home to take care of Gavin," Rowena explained. She rolled her eyes. "And me, apparently. I told her I'm perfectly fine, but apparently being sick makes me unable to take care of my brother. Like I'm a bloody invalid."

"Maybe she's right," you said, shrugging.

She glared at you. "I'm fine."

"You're _sick._ And she's your mom. She worries."

"She's overbearing, is what she is."

Agree to disagree.

"Why are you doing here?" she asked. "You _do_ know I have the flu, right?"

"You look it," you teased, nodding. She narrowed her eyes, annoyed. You laughed. "I'm here on business. Ms. Hanscum sent me to deliver your homework."

"Of course she did."

You handed her the papers. She looked them over, curious.

"I take it you won't have trouble with it," you said.

"Och, darling, you know I'm a genius."

Your heart fluttered at the pet name. "Yeah, you're Einstein."

She grinned. "Is that all?"

If only.

"There's gonna be a midterm before winter break."

The words tasted foul in your mouth. Bitter. Your stomach turned.

Rowena nodded. "What do you say we start preparing for it this Saturday? I suppose my ailment will pass by then."

"Sure." You turned to her, fear straining your face. Swallowing a lump in your throat, you asked, "You think there's enough time?"

She frowned, confused. "For what?"

"For me to, you know, get everything."

"Och, aye! Don't you worry, dear. By the time the midterm comes, you will be a Maths expert. Second only to me, of course."

You had to give a small chuckle. She knew how to lighten the mood. "You're so humble." She shrugged. Your face fell. "Really, though, I'm scared."

It took a lot of courage to say it, but once it was out of your system, you were relieved. It was out in the open now. No more just your burden to bear.

Rowena's expression softened, sympathy spilling over her face. "Don't worry," she said softly. Soothingly. "You will pass this exam."

It was easy for her to say. She was a genius. One of the best students in the school. Everything came easy to her.

She had no idea what it was like to turn over in bed all night for days on end as thoughts of failure chased your dreams away.

"What if I don't?"

"You will," Rowena said decisively. She reached for your hand and squeezed it. The touch was gentle, comforting. Her skin warm on yours, sending waves of excitement, elation, through you and putting you at ease all at once. "I promise."

A new hope blossomed within you.

If she said it, then so it would be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited by wonderifshelikesroses.


	16. Hear No Evil

The fifth day of school without Rowena there, looking like she owned the place, was just as weird as the first.

Not that you were missing her or anything.

Well, not _that_ much.

You were merely missing her presence. That was all.

Mosquitoes were annoying, but a summer without them wouldn't feel like summer. Not completely. Life would go on as normal. The air would be stale with humidity. Sun would burn eyes and skin, merciless, unforgiving. Sweat would glue drenched clothes to bodies. But something would still be missing. Something would still be _wrong._

Mosquitoes belonged in summer.

Birds belonged in the sky.

Spiders belonged in abandoned, dusty attics.

And Rowena Macleod belonged in school.

Saturday couldn't come fast enough. Just one more day. A little over twenty four hours, and you would see her again, in the flesh, hopefully with a touch more color in her face.

It wasn't anticipation. Not at all. You weren't excited to see her. Rather, you were concerned. You wanted to see if she was okay. For health reasons.

If you repeated it enough times, maybe you would believe it. But the way things were going, you were a lost cause.

Yes, you missed her, you told yourself. And yes, you couldn't wait to see her again. So what? She was your friend. It was only natural you worried for her wellbeing.

That was right.

She was your friend. Just your friend. Nothing more. What you felt for her was friendly.

That you weren't willing to compromise on with yourself.

It was friendly because you said so. Because it couldn't — it just couldn't, not with the way things were — be anything more.

The end.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket. A message lit up your screen.

_Miss me?_

Rowena.

As if she'd read your mind.

You blushed, hurrying to reply.

_Never._

_Every single day,_ you thought. To hell with denial. You missed her. Truly, genuinely missed her every day of this week.

Her response came within seconds.

_:(_

An unwilling smile broke out on your mouth. The emoji dripped with drama. You could imagine her pouting exaggeratedly and crossing her arms over her chest like an angry child.

_You big baby. :P_

She sent an emoji again, this time one of a hand holding up a middle finger.

You snorted, replying,

_Classy._

_You started it._

Fair enough.

_What are you doing up so early?_

From what Crowley told you, she loved to sleep in when she didn't have school to wake up for. Beauty sleep, she called it, because of course she would.

_Couldn't sleep. :(_

You imagined another pout, this one sad. An ache pulled at your heart, sympathy spilling over you.

You said,

_Flu's a bitch._

She begged to differ.

_Flu's a cunt._

Laughter exploded from your mouth. A few kids walking beside you in the hallway looked at you like you were crazy.

To be fair, you kind of were.

_Sometimes I forget you're Scottish, and then you say shit like this._

_Happy to remind you, dear. :)_

Now she was definitely smirking. You were willing to bet on it.

_Gotta go. Talk to you later._

_Rude. :(_

As much as you enjoyed your chat, the five-minute break wouldn't get any longer and the bell sure as hell wouldn't wait for you to empty your bladder before ringing. Pocketing your phone, you rushed into the nearest bathroom. It was empty, most students presumably having done their business before exchanging messages with their sick sort-of-friend.

You hurried to do yours, and just before you flushed the toilet, feet sounded outside, a soft, careful patter. A stall door creaked open, then closed; halfway, you presumed, for lack of a latch sliding into place.

"So public," a voice said, hushed but clear. "Naughty girl."

"It's not like anyone will see," another voice replied nonchalantly.

"Someone could."

"Let them try. I'll run the loser to the ground."

Whistling. "So bad."

"You like 'em bad."

"Don't you know it."

A giggle, then a puckering, a melody of flesh meeting flesh, that was undoubtedly a kiss. A long, passionate one you could picture vividly in your head.

You wished you couldn't.

Good god, you wished you couldn't.

Your stomach churned, disgust roiling and twirling. Your heart sped up as if in a race as cold shivers of unease pricked at the back of your neck like thousands of needles burrowed underneath your skin.

Maybe you were wrong, you thought. Maybe it wasn't them.

But, just as you were beginning to second guess your intuition, the couple spoke once again in-between what seemed to be a hot and heavy makeout session.

There was no longer room for doubt.

It was them.

Lucifer and Olivette.

The monkey and the wicked witch.

They were making out. In the bathroom. With each other.

Sneaking behind Rowena's back.

Your teeth clenched, anger flashing. How could they do this to her? How could they betray her like this?

As much as you hated that part of Rowena's life, you knew how much it meant to her. You couldn't understand it — didn't _want_ to understand it — but she cared about them both. She cherished them. Respected them. Cheered them on even when they didn't deserve it.

She put up with Olivette's pettiness and Lucifer's assholery, and for what?

For them to do this?

It wasn't fair.

It wasn't _right._

She was sick. That was, you realized, swallowing a lump in your throat, what bothered you the most about all this. Rowena was sick, stuck to her bed, pale as a corpse. She was helpless, and they took advantage. Twisted the situation to their benefit.

Had they even gone to visit her?

Had they, at the very least, sent messages wishing her a swift recovery?

You had. You'd sent dozens. You chatted with her every opportunity you had. Made sure to respond to every single message.

As friends did.

Was that why she wanted to chat so much? Because her actual friends had forgotten about her, too caught up in themselves, in each other?

Were you officially her friend now?

Was she yours?

Why did your heart flutter like that at the thought?

"You heard from her?" Olivette asked.

"Sent her some 'I missed you' crap this morning," Lucifer said.

She snorted. "Same, last night. God, she's so needy."

"Tell me about it. All she talks about is how sick she is. Like, I get it, you're sick. You'll get better in two days. Just shut up."

"She's always whining. _Always."_

Rowena.

They were talking about Rowena.

"Y'know, if she wasn't such a great lay, I would've ended it ages ago."

"Classy, Lucifer."

"I'm serious."

A few moments passed in silence, then Olivette said, "I get you. She's such a brat."

"She is. Now you — you're a _woman."_

"Oh, am I?"

"Mmhmm. Way less annoying. Quite… entertaining."

"You're not so bad yourself."

"I can be bad."

"I _know_ you can."

They smacked their lips in another nauseating kiss. As if on cue, the bell rang, echoing in the empty room.

You flushed the toilet, swung the door open, washed your hands, and hurried back to class.

You couldn't listen anymore. Couldn't bear to hear more moans and nasty words.

Rowena deserved better. A better friend. A better boyfriend. Someone who would like her for who she was. Who wouldn't call her names and ridicule her behind her back. Who wouldn't cheat on her when she was sick.

Someone who wouldn't let her down.

Someone… like you.

* * *

"Could I ask you guys a question?" you said amidst Dean's hundredth retelling of meeting a sexy waitress he'd had a one night stand with a few days ago.

She took his order, had a cute smile, was attracted to him, and they had sex after her shift ended.

There.

How many retellings did such a simple story need?

Everyone seemed glad at the interruption. Dean just shrugged as if he wasn't bothered, though it was obvious he was.

Oh, well.

His feelings were his business.

"Please, entertain us," Crowley said, side-eyeing Dean, who in turn flipped him the bird. Crowley responded with a teasing wink.

Those two honestly needed to get a room.

You cleared your throat. Willed up all your courage. "Say the person you were dating was cheating on you and your friend saw them. Would you wanna be told?"

Everyone looked at you as if you'd suddenly grown a second head.

Meg glanced back and forth from you to Castiel, brows furrowing in suspicion. Castiel, in turn, frowned at the sudden awkwardness. Clueless as usual. It would be sad if it wasn't endearing.

"I'm reading a book," you said quickly, spewing out the first thing that came to mind. Boring, simple, but convincing enough.

Heads bobbed in nods and a few ohs slipped from lips. The tension dissipated as if it had never been there, replaced by nonchalance, by sheer indifference. As if bringing your fiction into hangouts was something you did every day.

You wished.

Your group's tastes were so different you actively avoided bringing things you were into up. There were only so many blank stares and pretend nods you could take.

"Fuck, yeah, I'd wanna be told," Meg said, grabbing onto Castiel's hand. Tightly. Possessively. "You cheat on me and…" She made a cutting motion over her throat with her free hand, then settled her stare, as intense as her words, on you. "A real friend would tell me. A real friend would hold the bastard while I gutted him."

You gulped.

_Holy fuck!_

Meg could be intimidating when she wanted. And when she didn't. One of her many talents.

Castiel narrowed his eyes. Blinked. Looked around in confusion like a week-old puppy.

Meg gave him a sweet smile. "You wouldn't cheat on me, would you, Clarence?"

"I'd never cheat on you," he said, baffled as to how it was even a question. He turned to you. "If Meg cheated on me, I would very much appreciate you tell me." He furrowed his brows. "Though I don't know why she would. I think I satisfy her."

"I bet she's plenty satisfied," Crowley quipped dryly.

Meg flipped him off, earning her a smirk.

"As a matter of fact, I am. Clarence always—"

"Okay, Meg, we get it," Sam said. Before she could protest the interruption, he said, "If my girlfriend was cheating on me, I'd definitely wanna know. Yeah, it would suck, but it's better to know than not."

"Agreed," Dean said. "Friends are family. If they don't tell me, who will?"

Your heart warmed at his words.

Yes. Friends were family. A chosen one, filled with people you wanted there, people you'd picked to love out of millions of others.

If you didn't tell Rowena, who would?

Her other friends didn't look out for her. They didn't give a damn about her. Not a single one of them.

You did.

Despite everything she'd done, despite the life she'd chosen to lead, you cared about her. You saw the side of her that no one else did; the sweet, gentle one, the one capable of kindness. The one she hid from her own family.

She trusted you with her most vulnerable parts. Something not even your other friends did. The realization made your blood warm up in your veins. Heat burned at your cheeks.

You cared about her. So damn much that your heart felt like it was ripped apart at the thought of what Lucifer and Olivette's betrayal would do to her.

She deserved so much more than she was getting.

A better friend.

A better lover.

You.

She deserved you.

And, god, you wanted her. All for yourself, far away from her friends' clutches, from your friends' disapproving glares.

You could give her so much. You were neither rich nor popular, but you cared about her. Your feelings for her were genuine, honest. You couldn't give her power, but you could give her friendship.

You could give her love.

The friendly kind.

And maybe some even stronger than that.

What it was, you didn't know — you didn't want to know, didn't want to admit it just yet for it was too soon and things were too complicated — but it was hers. All hers.

All she had to do was want it.

"Fuck that," Crowley said, shaking you from your thoughts. "This is high school. I'm looking for hookups, not a commitment. I say, whatever happens when I'm not looking, never happened. I don't want to know. Hell, I'm probably out there doing the same bloody thing. There's plenty of fish in the sea. If you don't try out different kinds, what's the point?"

Of course he said that. Of fucking course.

Fergus MacLeod, ever the rebel.

"That's a… _unique_ perspective," Sam said.

Crowley shrugged, nonchalant. "Just telling it as it is."

Fair.

You couldn't comprehend it, but he had a right to his preference. He was an adventurer. An explorer. Bear Grylls of the dating scene. He lived for the moment. Tried out different things, different _people,_ enjoyed life as it went on. Lived his life the way he wanted, by his own unwritten rules. A hedonist by nature.

Rowena was different.

She was committed.

And had been betrayed.

And, as her friend, it was your duty to tell her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited by wonderifshelikesroses.


	17. The Truth Won't Set You Free

Saturday.

The coldest, cruelest day so far this December.

The first day of your midterm preparations, the mere thought of which sent shivers of dread down your spine.

The day you were going to tell Rowena about Lucifer and Olivette.

That scared you more than the midterm. Just a tad, but still, it was a fear that made your blood run cold (though, to be fair, it may have been helped by the god-awful weather you were stuck in on your way to the MacLeods' residence).

What if she didn't believe you? What if she called you a liar to your face and told you she never wanted to see you again?

You shook your head, balling your gloved fists in your pockets. She wouldn't. The two of you were friends now. She wouldn't accuse you of something like that without giving you a chance to explain, to tell your side of the story.

Would she?

After all, she was still a mean girl. All the popularity, all the power she wielded was courtesy of Lucifer and Olivette. They'd given it to her, and they could easily take it away.

Would she let them?

Would she be willing to lose everything over a small indiscretion?

He cheated on her, you reminded yourself. With her best friend. Rowena was strong, prideful. She knew her worth. She would never let something like that go.

Even at the cost of losing her status?

Yes. Most definitely.

 _No,_ a traitorous voice in the back of your mind spoke up.

You ignored it.

Rowena had proven more than once that there was more to her than met the eye. She wasn't a mean girl cliche. She had layers. Depths. Sides you doubted her traitorous friends knew of. She wouldn't let someone walk all over her for something as silly as popularity.

She would believe you.

You repeated it to yourself over and over. A mantra, a prayer to any deity that would listen.

She would believe you.

She would believe you.

She would believe you.

The door swung open before you could knock and a figure froze in place, almost colliding with you. You flinched, startled, and took a cautious step back.

Crowley's face was the picture of rage, but upon seeing you, his expression softened. "Hello, girl."

"Hello, boy," you said. "You running away?"

"Believe me, I'm tempted. But no."

"And here I thought I'd never see you again."

"Don't look so heartbroken."

You pressed a hand to your heart theatrically. "You make me feel things, Crowley."

"I'm flattered," he quipped dryly. "The whore's all yours. I've had enough of her for a lifetime."

"Another fight?"

"What do you think?"

Ah.

The MacLeods and their drama.

You'd never seen siblings that were so hostile to each other.

"I'll take very good care of her," you teased.

Crowley snorted. "You can kill her for all I care. Ungrateful bitch." He smiled sweetly. Too sweetly. Diabetes inducing. "Well, don't let me keep you from your studies."

Damn.

Those were some serious words.

What could Rowena possibly have done to earn them?

"You're going out in this weather?" you asked, shivering at the mere thought of someone willingly leaving the warmth of their home for the unforgiving cold.

"I'll take the cold over the whore," he said simply.

A wink, a wave, and he was gone. Just like that. Probably on his way to one of his bars, looking for a girl or a boy whose company would get his mind off his sister and the drama at home.

Unlike him, you were looking forward to spending a few hours with Rowena. Your heart jumped at the thought of the two of you alone, buried in books and conversations. Skin brushing against skin by accident, but long enough to burn, to send electricity through you. Smiles playing off each other. School statuses forgotten.

She greeted you as soon as you stepped inside. She was clad in pants and a t-shirt, barefoot, hair pulled into a neat ponytail. Her cheeks were flushed with color. Pale skin pink. Eyes bright with life.

She'd gotten better.

"Your brother just ran away," you said.

She rolled her eyes. "I bloody hate that numbnut."

You chuckled. "I see you're better."

She smirked. Twirled around like a ballerina, then did a small bow. Theater actress in her element. "Why, of course. A wee flu can't hold me down for long."

"It picked a fight with the wrong person."

"Bloody right, it did!"

You burst into joint laughter.

Leaving your coat on the hanger in the hallway, you followed Rowena to her room. The house was warm, your frozen flesh and bones melting in the welcome heat.

"I got some more homework for you," you said, taking out the folded papers and handing it to her.

"How generous of you," she said as she took them and looked them over.

"Don't shoot the messenger."

"Worry not, dear. I'm unarmed."

You begged to differ. Her tongue was proven to be quite an effective weapon. Otherwise she wouldn't have had a record Principal Shurley could blackmail her with.

"These are easy," she said with a shrug, tossing the papers on her bed. "Ms. Hanscum worries too much."

"She doesn't want her favorite student to miss out," you said.

"Her _best_ student," Rowena said smugly, earning an eye-roll from you. "And I'm not missing out. These new lessons are a joke."

You shrugged. "I'm not laughing."

"Someone of your… _capabilities_ wouldn't," she said teasingly.

You flipped her off. "Cut the pretentious crap."

She chuckled. You followed suit.

There was a time, mere two months ago, when a conversation like that would have been serious. No teasing, no laughs — pure animosity, hatred dripping from every word.

How times had changed.

Instead of dreading seeing her, now you were looking forward to it. Anticipating it like a child the night before Christmas. Tutoring sessions had become the highlight of your days.

Even math seemed a bit more appealing than it used to. Just a teeny tiny bit, but still.

Rowena had made it happen.

The majority of the good in your life for the past few months, you realized, Rowena had made happen.

She'd made you like her.

As a person.

As a friend.

As…

As something you didn't dare put into words. Not here. Not now.

"You really think I'll pass?" you asked.

"Aye," Rowena said, not the least bit concerned. Casual as if she were talking about the weather. Noticing your uncertainty, she added, "These are all lessons we've worked on. You’ve managed to get good marks on those, haven't you?"

You did. Cs and a few Ds. Much to Ms. Hanscum's delight and your bafflement.

Math still barely made sense to you, and yet…

Here Rowena was, making it make sense.

This girl could make hieroglyphs make sense.

"Yeah, but…"

"But nothing. You'll pass the bloody midterm with a C!"

There was so much determination in her words, so much confidence that you believed her. She could tell you, in that same tone of voice, that she had superpowers and you would believe her.

"I'll take your word for it," you said half-seriously.

"You do that," she said. "I'm a professional. I know what I'm saying."

"You're a teacher now?"

"Considering I've been able to teach you what Ms. Hanscum couldn't, I'd say I'm a bloody good one."

Damn.

Your heart fluttered like a swarm of butterflies in your chest.

There was something… exciting about her confidence. Exhilarating. _Attractive._

You recoiled at the thought, but the more you pondered on it, the truer it rang.

Confidence was attractive. Especially Rowena's. The girl was sure of her capabilities, of everything she could do. She knew who she was and what she could do, and she didn't let anyone tell her otherwise. Didn't let petty things such as poor understanding of math get in her way.

She knew her worth, and expected — _demanded —_ you to know yours.

She would settle for nothing less.

Settling down on the bed, the two of you instantly got to work. You briefly got through this week's lessons, which, as Rowena explained them in detail, seemed much less incomprehensible than they did in class. For someone who hadn't been to class in five days, she had the perfect grasp on this new material. A superpower, if you'd ever known one.

She didn't get frustrated. Not even when you gave her that blank stare as if she'd just spoken some ancient, long-gone language. Not when she had to explain the same problem three times exactly the same way. Not when you followed her instructions and work she'd written down for the exact same problem and you still managed to get a different result.

In over two months she'd been tutoring you, she'd never gotten frustrated. Not once.

And when you got frustrated by your incompetence, she was quick to calm you down and explain yet again what it was you needed to do.

She spoke in a sweet tone of voice, one so unlike the tough, stern one you were used to. Your heart fluttered with every word that fell from her mouth.

Was that how she spoke to Lucifer when they were alone? Was she that sweet, that patient with him?

Only to end up cheated on. Betrayed by the two people who were supposed to care about her the most.

You would never do that to her. You would never lodge a knife in her back and pretend everything was fine. Never take her for granted.

Because, the truth was, Rowena MacLeod was amazing.

In so many ways.

The mean girl persona was just a facade.

The real Rowena was kind. Sweet. Gentle. Endlessly patient. She was caring, no matter how hard she pretended otherwise. A friend anyone would wish for.

If Lucifer and Olivette couldn't see it, they were blind.

Just like your friends were blind. You understood their concern, their protectiveness. It was only natural they wanted to keep you safe. But, at the very least, they had the best intentions at heart. They'd never gotten a chance to meet the Rowena you knew.

Lucifer and Olivette had.

And they didn't give a damn about her.

After you were done with the new lessons, Rowena started explaining some of the old ones. Those you were more in touch with, your memory of study sessions and numbers that made slightly more sense still fresh.

"See? You can do it," she said.

"That's just two lessons," you pointed out.

"Two lessons that you understand."

"Somewhat."

"Enough."

"Agree to disagree."

She rolled her eyes dramatically. "You are one stubborn lass."

"I learned from the best," you retorted.

She glared, then sighed. "You will pass that midterm, or so help me."

You quirked up an eyebrow. "You gonna punish me?"

"Aye."

"Should I start calling you mom?"

"Mummy is more suitable," she teased, offering a suggestive wink.

Your cheeks burned, set alight with heat that spread all throughout your body. Heart jumped wildly as if in a race.

 _Good god, Rowena,_ you thought. _Good fucking god!_

This girl would be the death of you.

You chuckled, nervous, and turned your head in an attempt to hide your discomfort.

Not that you could. It was all out in the open, shouted out by your traitorous body.

Rowena smirked wickedly. She knew exactly what she was doing.

That little minx.

"Idiot," you said through giggles.

Her features smoothened into a look of pure innocence. "Whatever do you mean?"

You just shook your head. She knew what you meant, and she enjoyed it. Enjoyed teasing you. Enjoyed tormenting you like the cruel girl she was.

She gave a small chuckle, her toes curling up like a kitten's.

"Why do you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Curl your toes. I noticed you do it sometimes. It's…" Cute. Completely and utterly cute. So cute your insides melted every time she did it. "Weird."

Rowena's cheeks flushed red as her hair, making her even cuter. "It's a habit, from back when I did ballet. Pointing your feet every day gets exhausting, so…"

"This is like rest?" you assumed.

She nodded. "I guess it stayed with me."

"It's nice."

She stared.

"It is," you said. "Sorta… cute."

"You take that back!" she demanded, holding up her forefinger in warning.

You laughed. "Nope."

"I am _not_ cute."

"You totally are."

The cutest girl you'd ever seen. The girl you felt so much for that calling it friendship wasn't enough.

Not anymore.

What you felt — what you wanted, what you _craved —_ was something more. Much, much more.

Something you knew you would never get.

Rowena pouted, slapping your arm.

"Ow!" you exclaimed. "So rude."

"That's what you get for calling me cute."

"You're right," you conceded. "I should call you adorable."

The glare she threw at you had to have killed before.

You raised your hands up in surrender. "Don't shoot!"

"Another word and I will," she threatened.

You were tempted to keep up the banter, but elected to give it a rest for now. Instead, you said, "You coming to school Monday?"

"Aye," Rowena replied. "The good doctor cleared me."

"Cool," you said, trying to keep your enthusiasm at a minimum.

She wasn't fooled. "Missed me?"

_You don't even know how much._

"Yeah. Had no one to glare at me and walk around like they owned the place."

That prompted her to snort. "I'm sure that's not true. Lucifer and Olivette were there every day."

Yes, they were.

Unfortunately.

But they weren't her.

They would never, ever be her.

"They come to visit you?" you asked.

She shook her head. "We texted."

You remembered their words. Remembered the scorn that dripped from them like poison. How needy Rowena was. How all she talked about was her sickness. How she always whined, and the only thing that saved her relationship was that she was good in bed.

Anger filled you at the memory. Your fists clenched to the point of pain, skin taut on your knuckles.

Now was the time to tell her. The time for her to find out what they were really like.

Just as you were about to speak, she said, "Fergus tried to make problems for us."

You furrowed your brows. "What?"

"Just before you got here. The numbnut said Lucifer is cheating on me." She chuckled. "As if."

So that was why he'd run out like that. Why he'd called her ungrateful.

Your blood ran cold. "Maybe he is," you said tentatively.

She looked at you as if you'd just said the Earth was flat. "I know my boyfriend. Lucifer is a lot of things, but he is not a cheater."

There was a touch of uncertainty on her face, but she quickly masked it, smoothed it clean as if it were dirt.

Heart sinking, you said, "He did grab my ass that one time."

And had undoubtedly done so, and even worse, to other girls. Girls who didn't dare punch him in the face for it. Girls who stilled with fear, or ran away in tears.

Men like him never stopped at just one.

"That was before we got together," Rowena said.

It was still wrong.

It was still sexual assault.

How could she be so casual about it? How could she not see it as a problem?

What was it about Lucifer Shirley that made her get over everything, that made her ignore so much of his bullshit?

His dick couldn't have been _that_ good.

"He looks — everyone does — but he doesn't touch anymore," Rowena said, more to herself than you.

Lies.

All lies.

And she knew it.

Her mouth may have been willing to spew nonsense, but her face had enough decency to tell the truth.

She doubted Lucifer.

But she still remained loyal to him.

She refused to believe he touched other girls without permission. Refused to believe he cheated on her. Refused to acknowledge he wasn't the perfect boyfriend she'd deluded himself into thinking he was.

Willful ignorance.

It couldn't be true if she refused to accept it as such.

"And Fergus — he thinks he's on a stage," she said with a roll of her eyes." He sees drama everywhere. And when he doesn't, he creates it. I'll not let him use my relationship for his entertainment just because he's bored with his life."

Except, he wasn't.

Whatever it was he'd told her about, it had to have been true.

Crowley did tend to lie from time to time, but not about things like that. He wouldn't hurt her on purpose.

Yes, the two of them bickered and often spoke to each other like bitter enemies instead of siblings, but they still cared about each other.

He most likely _had_ told her about Lucifer to piss her off, but he hadn't made it up.

Crowley was her brother. Her family. If she didn't — wouldn't — believe him, what chance was there that she would believe you?

You, who were nothing to her. Whom she barely considered a friend.

A lump formed in your throat, thick, suffocating. You swallowed it, teeth clenching, fingers curling into the hem of your shirt so tightly the fabric almost ripped.

You couldn't tell her.

Everything you'd heard — those horrible words and sounds — you had to keep to yourself.

Rowena couldn't know.

She didn't _want_ to know.

If you uttered a single word, at best you would be a liar.

At worst…

You would lose her.

As much as she clearly cared about you, you were only her tutoring friend.

Olivette was her real friend.

Lucifer was her boyfriend.

Their word against yours, and, unlike Crowley, you had no blood ties to keep you in her life.

Instead of setting you free, the truth would ruin you. Rid you of everything you'd accomplished in the past few months.

You were in love with Rowena, so fucking much, and you had to lie to her.

And, good god, did it hurt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited by wonderifshelikesroses.


	18. The Devil You Know

The midterm was getting closer, and with it, you and Rowena's tutoring sessions had become more frequent.

Truth be told, there was no need for constant studying, but the more time the two of you got to spend together, the better. You certainly weren't complaining, and neither was Rowena.

It wasn't like you were studying all the time, anyway. Quite contrary — you spent half the time chatting about nonsense and engaging in banter that always ended in giggles and laughter.

You were having fun.

For the first time in forever, you were truly, genuinely having fun.

With, of all people, Rowena MacLeod.

No — not _with_ her.

 _Because_ of her.

You loved spending time with her. You loved it from the bottom of your heart, from the depth of your soul.

You loved _her._

It felt freeing to finally admit it to yourself.

It wasn't something you were proud of, or something you'd wanted. It certainly wasn't something you'd planned.

But it happened.

The heart wanted what it wanted.

You were glad it wanted her.

There were still so many things about her that bothered you. Things that, when you gave them more thorough thought, made you resent her. But, just like the bad, there was good in her that made all her indiscretions, all her flaws feel small.

She was so sweet. So lovely. Patient even when you were a pain. There was a kindness to her she rarely showed, but when she did, it shined brighter than the sun. And when she smiled at you, it was honest. Genuine. The kind of smile you'd never seen her give her friends. The kind that came straight from the heart.

How could someone be so wicked one moment, and so angelic the next? How could the same mouth that spewed venom utter such tenderness? How could eyes that threatened murder shine so bright?

How could you hate someone and then love them in the span of a second?

It made no sense.

Life rarely did.

Maybe it wasn't supposed to. Maybe living and feeling and loving was all there was to it.

If that was so, you were okay with it. You were disappointed by the sheer simplicity of it, but otherwise had no complaints.

You were okay with loving Rowena.

Even if she didn't love you back.

Your friends weren't too thrilled about you spending so much time with her — the time you usually spent with them. But, despite their disapproval, they understood you needed to prepare for the midterm as best as you could. It wasn't like you'd abandoned them. You still hung out with them, but half of the time that used to go to them was now Rowena's. They had to accept that for the time being, and it seemed they did. Begrudgingly so, but they did.

Crowley still threw dramatic fits and Dean gave you suspicious looks (thankfully, he'd learned to keep his comments to himself), but other than that, things were okay. As they should be. Unsurprisingly, Sam was the most supportive. So supportive, in fact, that he made teasing little quips and gave suggestive winks that made you blush every single time.

Did he know something? Had he noticed you liked Rowena as more than a friend, and that that was why you wanted to spend so much time with her?

He couldn't have.

You were being careful. You didn't defend Rowena too much around Crowley, or make flimsy excuses about having to meet her. She was your tutor. You stuck by that because, despite your feelings for her, it was true. You couldn't be caught lying about something that was true.

You were overthinking it. Sam knew nothing. He was just being a tease, as friends did.

"These numbers are killing me," you whined the day before the midterm. You and Rowena were in the library, using your free period to study.

Not your ideal way to spend a free period, buy hey, you got to hang out with her. Alone (aside from the librarian, who kept her eyes glued to her computer and paid no attention to you two). Away from prying eyes and suspicious glances. It was a win in your book.

"One more day and you're free," Rowena reminded you.

You groaned. "How do you not go crazy?"

She shrugged. "I like studying."

"You must be the only kid in the country who does."

The only _popular_ kid.

Her kind usually got on by stretched out Ds and sucking up to teachers.

Olivette certainly did, as well as her little posse. And so did Lucifer.

Rowena chuckled. "It's fun," she said simply. "I like learning new things."

You did, too.

That was what the internet was for.

Not five-hundred-page books.

And certainly not textbooks.

"Learn something new while I go pee."

"Don't get lost on your way back."

You sent her a sour smile, earning you an innocent blink, and said, "Don't you worry your pretty little head. I'll find my way back to you."

The good thing about having a free period was that bathrooms were empty. You didn't have to push your way through a crowd and search for a free stall that may or may not be soiled and smelly.

You did your business quickly and, while washing your hands, took the time to wash your face. The water was cool on your skin, chasing away sleep that threatened to overcome you. You were so tired. So damn sleepy. Between school, study sessions, and chatting with your friends online, you barely got enough sleep.

The midterm had turned you into a zombie, running on caffeine instead of rest.

One more day and it would all be over.

Just one more day.

You could do it.

"Look who we have here."

The voice startled you back to reality. Lucifer was standing by the door, looking at you with raw hunger in his eyes. His gaze was intense, focused, like that of a predator observing its prey, lips curled in a smirk that promised trouble. His right arm hung loosely at his side, his left one leaning against the doorframe.

He appeared casual, normal, a regular high school kid greeting another, but there was something imposing in his stance. Something wicked, threatening, that sent a rush of shivers, cold as ice, down your spine.

He could pretend all he wanted, but the fact remained he was no normal high schooler, and he certainly wasn't here to chat about whatever it was kids your age usually chatted about.

Where Lucifer went, trouble followed. If not, he made it follow.

Whatever he was here for, you were willing to bet it was nothing good.

His eyes, beautiful and deadly all at once, colder than the coldest ice, remained on you, followed every micro movement of your body. Although clad in a turtleneck, you felt exposed, naked, under his stare. You crossed your arms over your chest as if to cover up and said in a voice as chilly as the air outside, "Get out."

Bastard that he was, he took a step further inside and shut the door behind him.

Great.

Fucking great.

Not only did he catch you off guard — now you were stuck with him.

Alone.

You swallowed a lump in your throat, pushed the rising fear down. You had nothing to be afraid of. Lucifer was an asshole with nasty habits and wandering hands, but he wouldn't do anything too bad.

Would he?

"You and I are gonna have a little chat first."

You cocked up an eyebrow. Swallowed down the uneasiness and put on a brave face. He didn't get to see you shaken. "Are we? I mean, we don't have that much in common. Unless you're into American Horror Story, in which case I'm not discussing it with _you."_

"Cute." He chuckled. You responded with a fake sugary smile. "But we do have one thing in common, remember? I'm fucking her. And you're… well, doing whatever the hell you're doing with her."

Oh.

So that was what this was about.

"I can assure you, there's nothing going on between me and Olivette. I barely know her."

Two could play this game.

The amusement on his face flickered away for a split second, long enough for you to take notice. Your mouth curled into a smirk, smug, satisfied. He may have thought himself invincible, but he wasn't. Far from it. He could be hurt, taken off guard. Knocked down a small, barely noticeable peg.

It wasn't much, but it was something.

Daddy and popularity couldn't protect him from everything.

"We've got ourselves a comedian," Lucifer commented, letting out a chuckle.

"I've been told I'm hilarious," you retorted.

"You've been lied to."

You shrugged, nonchalant. "Maybe. I mean, that's your field of expertise. You tell me."

He laughed.

You grinned. "So I haven't been lied to."

He sucked in a breath, long and hard. And when he looked up at you, his expression shifted, all the carelessness fading away in favor of something that could best be described as tranquil fury. His face was a blank, all emotion gone, wiped clean, but there was something boiling under the surface. Something dark. _Dangerous._

He took a few steps forwards. Instinctively, you backed away into the sink, putting some distance between you. Just in case.

He was an animal, wild and unpredictable. No peers to hold him back from acting out. No daddy to threaten to disown him. Just you and the tiled walls keeping you prisoner, trapping you in with him.

When he spoke, it was pure ice. "Cut the crap. You've been keeping Rowena from me for weeks."

You barely held back a laugh. For such an alpha male, he was strangely insecure. "Are you jealous?"

"She's _my_ girlfriend," he said firmly. An order, a command.

Too bad you weren't big on following those.

"And she's my _friend."_

He snorted. "Calling her your friend's quite generous."

Maybe so.

Whatever your and Rowena's relationship was, it was none of his business.

"Think whatever you want, but I can assure you, I haven't been keeping her from you."

Rowena had been the one to suggest frequent studying sessions. She'd been the one asking you out to Biggerson's, to her house, to the library to go over lessons. She'd been the one texting you with praises, with assurances that you would pass the final.

"She's the one who chooses to hang out with me," you continued. Unable to resist a jab, you added, "It's not my fault I'm better company than you."

"How much better?"

"What?"

He walked over to you. Laid his hands on sinks on either side of you, trapping you in. Caging you like a helpless animal.

Your heart jumped, fear filling your veins like a drug. Making you queasy, lightheaded. But you kept your head up, kept your eyes locked on his in pretend bravery. He didn't get to make you cower. He didn't get to intimidate you and get away with it.

You weren't a Freshman girl, helpless and frightened.

You weren't his friends, high on power.

You weren't Rowena, drunk on his lies.

You'd stood your ground when he'd grabbed your ass, and you would stand your ground now.

"Don't play dumb with me, sweetheart," Lucifer said. "I know you're a dyke."

"I'm not—"

"I can smell it on you."

"Your superpower's malfunctioning."

He gave a small, smug chuckle.

"What I am is none of your business," you spat.

"It is when you try to seduce my girlfriend."

A bark of laughter escaped you before you could try to stop it.

What in hell was he talking about?

You had feelings for Rowena, but you'd never come on to her. Regardless of your opinion about her taste in men (or lack thereof), you would never go after someone who was taken.

You thought she deserved better, but you'd never acted on it. You'd never even said it out loud.

Had she noticed your crush? Had she told him about it?

"You're crazy," you said.

Understatement of the century.

Lucifer was a certified psycho case.

"Am I?"

He got in your face, his minty breath crawling over your skin. Creeping over it like thousands of tiny spiders, harmless but terrifying. You held back a gag. You didn't want to be this close to him.

You didn't want to be anywhere near him, least of all alone.

"I've seen the way you look at her," he said. "And I totally get you. She's a nice piece of ass. All tiny and flexible and… ginger." He puckered his lips. "There's something about gingers. But anyway, while I wholeheartedly understand your attraction, she's still my girlfriend. You dig?"

"So nice to have your approval—" not that you needed it "—but I don't _dig._ There's nothing going on between her and me."

He sighed in exasperation. "Bros before hoes. Dick before chicks. And so on and so on."

"I'm not your bro, Lucifer." You would rather eat a gun than become anything of the sort. "Rowena's my friend. That's all. And yeah, we hang out a lot. But you know what?" You shoved your face in his this time, a small vengeance. "She's happy when she's with me. Always smiling and laughing. When's the last time she smiled when she was with you? And I don't mean that fake shit she puts on at school — I'm talking about actual smiles. I see them all the time, and I'm only her friend. She must be all sunshine and rainbows with her _boyfriend._ Or is she?"

Growling like a rabid dog, Lucifer shoved you into the wall. Pain exploded over your back, pulsating like a giant heart beating against you, slamming into you over and over. You gritted your teeth to stifle a moan; you wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing you in pain.

"Get your filthy hands off me!" you snarled, pushing him off.

His fingers, thick, strong, wrapped around your wrists in an iron grip. In a swift, trained motion, he pinned them up against the wall. His eyes were on yours, nose pressed firmly against yours. He breathed on you, into you, over you, and this time you did gag.

Your heart raced with panic, chills as cold as ice creeping down your spine. You tried to break free, but as you struggled, his grip tightened to the point of pain.

You were trapped. Caged by an animal as unpredictable as any predator.

You swallowed a lump at the back of your throat and smoothed out your features into as much neutrality as you could muster. You kept your gaze on his, never faltering, never blinking. The best way to beat a predator was to face it. To stare it down until it realized it met its match and backed down like the coward it was for only cowards went after the weaker.

"Stay away from her," he commanded in a dangerously calm voice. A quiet threat.

"I will she when tells me to."

You took orders from no one. Especially not spoiled brats throwing tantrums.

 _"I'm_ telling you."

Really?

_Really?!_

"Who the fuck do you think you are?" you snapped, pissed to high heavens. Completely and utterly sick of his shit. "Your daddy may be the principal, but you're nothing! You hear me? Nothing!"

He raised his fist, aimed it to strike you.

You scoffed. "Go on. Hit me. Do it and your life is over. I'm not scared of you, Lucifer." You were, deathly so, to the point where your voice threatened to break, but he didn't have to know that. "Lay your hand on me and your daddy won't be able to protect you anymore."

Not when news sites got wind of it.

Not when your friends got their hands on him.

Not when the police took him away in handcuffs for you were both legal adults and assault was serious business.

"I can fight my own battles."

"Right. That's why you're here on Rowena's behalf."

"I'm here on _my_ behalf."

You laughed in his face. "You're not asking me to stay away from you, are you? For the record, if that's what you want, you can totally have it. I'd rather swallow razors than hang out with you."

"I know what you're trying to do," he accused. "Rowena is _mine._ You can't have her."

"I don't want her." You did — good god, you did — but you knew it would never happen. You were more than content with being her friend. "And she doesn't want me. What's the matter, Luci? You don't trust your own girlfriend?"

"What can I say?" He shrugged. "She's been known to make some… questionable decisions."

There one such decision was, right in front of you. "So you decided to make them for her?"

"I decided to protect her."

"Bullshit! You're only doing this to stroke your own ego," you spat. "Big, strong macho man can't handle his girlfriend having friends." You looked him straight in the eyes, forcing every word to sink in, to settle down and sting. "Rowena's old enough to know what she wants. If she's hanging out with a girl she hated until recently more than her boyfriend, well, I'd say it's the boyfriend who should ask himself why that is. Maybe she's as sick of your shit as I am."

He squeezed your wrists, dug his nails into the skin almost to the point of drawing blood.

"Truth hurts doesn't it?" you said, swallowing a hiss.

Before he could respond, the door clicked open and a voice, familiar, demanding, said, "What in hell is going on here?"

You looked at Rowena, frightened, defiant eyes meeting her baffled ones. A welcome relief washed over you. "Your animal boyfriend attacked me!"

Lucifer instantly released you and stepped away, hands up in surrender. "We were just having a little chat."

She cocked up an eyebrow, not quite buying it. "Oh, really?"

"Yeah. I didn't attack her. We just had a discussion that got a little heated."

"He tried to hit me!" you exclaimed, then held up your sore wrists for her to see.

"She's lying! She came at me. I was defending myself." He shrugged. "Bitch is crazy."

"Oh, give me a break! You're not gonna believe this bullshit?"

A part of you was terrified she would, but one look into Rowena's eyes told you you had nothing to worry about.

She had your back.

"What in hell is wrong with you, Lucifer?" Her tone was that of danger, of threat, his name dripping with poison.

"What's wrong with me?" He pointed at you, outraged. "You should be asking what's wrong with _her!"_

Right.

Because _you_ were the unhinged one here.

Totally.

"He wanted me to stop hanging out with you."

There was no reason to keep it secret. The bastard had made his bed. Now he had to lie in it.

Rowena looked at him with murder in her eyes. "Again with this nonsense?"

So you were correct. He _had_ tried to ban her from seeing you.

And when she'd — quite obviously — refused, he'd decided to force you to stay away.

You wondered if he'd been as rough with her.

No way, you told yourself. Rowena would never allow someone to put their hands on her.

"It's not like that!" Lucifer protested.

He tried to say something else, but Rowena held up a forefinger in warning. "We'll talk about this later." She turned to you, motioned for you to come closer. "Come on, Y/N. We've got some more studying to do."

You did as asked without complaint, throwing Lucifer a smug look on your way over to her. _I win,_ it said. She was on your side. She'd chosen you.

You hoped she roasted him good later on.

You hoped she dumped him.

Not likely, but a girl could dream.

Even if she did, the little voice in the back of your mind told you, she wouldn't be with you. She would never be yours.

Popular girls didn't hook up with loser ones.

Rowena was a rebel, but not to _that_ extent.

She didn't even like you like that.

You doubted she was even into girls.

"Come on, Red!" Lucifer whined.

"Later!" she snapped. As soon as you were in the hallway, finally away from him for the last ten minutes seemed like hours, she asked in that soft, gentle voice she rarely used, "Are you alright? Has he hurt you?"

"I'm fine."

You rubbed your sore wrists. Though they would soon blossom with bruises, they didn't hurt that much. Your heart was still beating like crazy, adrenaline pumping through your veins like caffeine, but other than that you were okay.

"I'll sort it out with Lucifer," Rowena promised.

"You do that." If it was even possible. You couldn't fix crazy. "What's his problem?"

She sighed. "He can get a wee bit jealous."

Understatement of the century.

If that was a wee bit, you didn't want to know what he was like when he was very jealous.

"He's fucking crazy!"

She had no disagreements to that.

A silence befell the two of you, uncomfortable, suffocating. So many words left unsaid hung in the air, taunting you, mocking you, daring you to utter them as loud and clear as your mind was shouting them.

Lucifer was a monster. A psychopath. A killer in the making. What was Rowena doing with him? Did she care so little about other people — about herself — that she could get past everything he'd done?

Did she care at all?

Did she care about _you?_

Being with him gave her power, a title in this school. But what did all of it matter if he didn't respect her? What did it matter if all she was to him was a pawn, a — hopefully not literal — punching bag?

After moments of discomfort, you finally dared yourself to ask, "Why do you put up with him?"

"Because I…" _I love him,_ Rowena most likely wanted to say, but stopped herself in time, reluctance hanging over her face like a painting. "It's complicated."

It damn well had to be. Someone of her ego, of her confidence, didn't just let such disrespect pass. There had to be more at play. Things she wasn't willing to let you in on.

"He's a piece of shit," you said.

"He bloody is," she said with a small chuckle.

Your face remained cold, no humor left. You sucked in a breath, a deep one, for courage. "You deserve better."

There.

You said it.

Rowena stopped in her tracks. Looked at you as if you'd just admitted you were in love with her. Eyes wide, mouth ajar in a small O. Surprise etched over her face like a painting.

"I mean it," you said, not regretting a thing.

She deserved so much better. Someone who cared about her, who didn't want to control her. Someone who trusted her to make her own decision and respected every single one of them.

Not necessarily you.

Just someone.

Anyone other than Lucifer.

Rowena pulled on a smile. "Lovely of you to say, but it's not that simple. Sometimes settling is the only choice we have."

"Not when it comes to dating," you said.

She shook her head. "You wouldn't understand."

"Try me."

She fell into silence. "I'll take care of Lucifer. He won't bother you again."

A topic for another time, then.

You considered pressing it, but elected not to. After everything that happened, now was not the time. "You do that."

Whatever it was she saw in him, you hoped it was worth it.

"We'll still… hang out?" you asked, just to be sure.

"Aye. I'll not let my boyfriend choose my friends."

It felt weird to hear it from her mouth, to hear her acknowledge it out loud and proud.

Weird, but… beautiful.

Your heart swelled with warmth.

"What if he tries it again?"

"Well…" She swallowed, hard. "Then he's not the boy for me, is he?"

"I thought it was complicated."

"Some things are less so than others."

Maybe so.

Putting on a smile, you gave a small nod before entering the library and getting back to work. After what had happened, you couldn't really focus on math as much as you should have. Lucifer's words — threats — echoed in your head. Your wrists burned where he'd grabbed them. Your skin still felt sticky with his breath.

If Rowena didn't solve this problem, you would.

And it wouldn't be pretty for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited by miss-moon-guardian.


	19. She's Come Undone

_"Well… Then he's not the boy for me, is he?"_

Those words had fallen from Rowena's lips so easily earlier, so carelessly, as if breaking it off would cost her nothing.

It would cost her everything. Much more than she was willing to pay.

But, damn, if she wasn't willing to risk it at this point.

Lucifer had crossed the line.

Pushing her around, shoving her into walls, _hitting_ her was one thing.

Going after you?

A mistake.

It would cost him.

Good god, it would cost him.

Rowena had had enough.

She'd texted him earlier, asking to meet up. He'd responded with his usual sweet words, but she'd ignored them; they were empty of any meaning, there only to change her mind, to manipulate her into forgetting what had happened and giving him what, at this point, must have been the thousandth chance.

She'd run out of patience. He hadn't deserve any of the ones she'd given him, and he certainly didn't deserve one now.

If he wanted to save their relationship, he'd better have a bloody good apology.

No excuses, no promises he would do better, that he would change — she'd had enough of those. They were as empty as his compliments and pet names.

He hadn't just harmed her this time.

He'd gone after you. Attacked you, threatened you, made ludicrous demands.

Rowena wouldn't stop hanging out with you. Wouldn't stop being your friend. She'd made it clear last time, and she would make it even clearer again.

If Lucifer had a problem with it, then…

Well, he had a choice to make.

As did she.

And if it came between you and him, she knew whose side she would take. The consequences be damned.

They agreed to meet at his place later this afternoon. His family would be gone, and they would have the entire place to themselves.

To talk.

If he expected her to stay over for sex, he was gravely mistaken.

Right now, the mere thought of touching him made her stomach turn.

Anything other than a conversation was out of the question.

Lucifer opened the door for her, the smile on his mouth wide and beautiful. Once upon a time it would have warmed her heart. Now it just disgusted her. There was no meaning behind it, no warmth; it was a yet another manipulation tactic, only this time she wasn't falling for it.

"Hi, Red!" he greeted happily. "So glad you came." He looked her over, drunk her body, which was wrapped into a coat and knee-high boots, in. Undressed her with his stare. "Looking gorgeous as ever."

 _That_ was genuine.

Whatever his feelings about her were, he loved her body. Loved to ogle it, to touch it, to use it whenever he saw fit.

It used to flatter her. Used to make her feel accomplished to have the most popular boy in school be so openly attracted to her.

Little did she know back then, it was only her body he liked.

Her, not so much.

Well, she didn't like him very much, either.

She liked his popularity, his body, the sweet words he fed her every now and then when he pretended. She knew they were lies, but she liked them. They were hers, only hers; other girls could only dream of him speaking that way to them.

But the real him, the violent beast, the ticking time bomb? She hated that boy from the depths of her soul.

"I'm here to talk," she said and pushed her way inside, purposely shoving his shoulder with hers with as much strength as she could muster.

The house was huge and warm. She hung her coat on the hanger, happy to finally be out of it. The air outside froze her to the bone. Patches of ice had already begun to form on the sidewalk; if the forecast were to be believed, the roads would freeze overnight. Going to school tomorrow would be quite an adventure.

"You seem angry," Lucifer commented as he led her to his room.

Rowena walked beside him, knowing the way by heart.

"Whatever makes you think that?" she snarked, words dripping with sarcasm.

Once they were inside, he closed the door and sighed. "You know I don't like that loser bitch."

Straight to the point, eh?

Fine by her.

"And you know that 'loser bitch' is my friend."

He scoffed. "Is she now? I thought you were just hanging out."

You were. Weeks ago. Back when she wasn't sure what she thought — what she was _allowed_ to think — about being around you.

Now she fucking loved it.

"Things changed," she said simply.

"So did you," he accused. "Since when are you _friends_ with losers?"

Since she got to know you better and got a chance to realize things weren't what they seemed. That _you_ weren't what you seemed. You weren't just a loser, a measly girl at the bottom of the barrel, coated in dirt and grime. You were a person. You loved your life the way it was, lived it to the fullest. Hurt no one.

Rowena, on the other hand, hated hers and had done nothing but hurt people in the last four years.

Maybe she'd made a mistake. Maybe she should have aimed for something other than popularity. Something that would make her happy instead of making her put on fake smiles and layers of makeup to hide her misery.

You had friends who loved you.

She had friends who could barely stand her and a boyfriend who treated her like shit.

"Who I'm friends with is none of your concern," Rowena said.

Lucifer sighed. "Rowena, we talked about this."

"We did. And you agreed to stay out of my business."

It was one of the conditions of her forgiving him — or pretending to do so for she would never, ever, forgive him for what he'd put her through. She could put it behind her, move on, but she could never forgive and forget. His mistreatment — his _abuse,_ and, god, did it feel good to admit it for what it truly was — would stay with her for as long as she lived. Would remain seared into her mind, into her soul, into her heart.

Was it worth it, at this point? Could she still put up with it?

He hadn't hit her in a while, but she knew it was only a matter of time. Lucifer could never control himself for too long.

Next time he gave her puppy eyes, took her out, and bought her something expensive, would she take him back? Would she get over it?

"That was before she started putting moves on you!"

Rowena blinked. Once. Twice. Three times. Four. Five. "What in hell are you talking about?"

"You know damn well what I'm talking about!" he snapped. "I've seen the way she looks at you!"

She couldn't help it — she laughed, loudly and heartily. Laughed until her stomach hurt.

"You're bloody mental!"

You were right — he was completely off his rocker.

You were her friend. Nothing more and nothing less. Yes, she preferred your company to Lucifer's, and yes, if she had to choose, she would rather be with you than him. She couldn't define what she felt for you — didn't dare define it for doing so would make it real and she couldn't deal with that right now — but your relationship was strictly platonic.

The worst you did was hold hands two times.

It felt much nicer, much more intimate, than when she held hands with Lucifer, but it wasn't flirting. It wasn't cheating. It was friendship.

 _"I'm_ mental? She wants to fuck your brains out every time you go near her — and _I'm_ the crazy one?"

Well, yes.

"She doesn't want anything of the sort!" Rowena argued.

"I wasn't born yesterday, Rowena! That bitch keeps ogling you and you're defending her."

Even if you did, so what? She was gorgeous. The more people that noticed, the better.

"You know she's a dyke, right?"

Were you?

She'd seen you compliment both actors and actresses; if there was attraction to any of it, she hadn't noticed. And it didn't matter. Your sexuality — whatever it was — was none of her business.

"What does her sexuality have to do with this?"

"Isn't it obvious? She wants you." Lucifer stepped closer. Looked her straight in the eyes, his blue ones shooting darts, cold and icy, into the depth of her soul. "And you want her."

"That's ridiculous!" Rowena exclaimed.

"Is it?" He cocked his head to the side, pretending to ponder on it. "You're a dyke, too. I know how you guys work."

Did he, now?

He seemed to know a lot of words whose meanings he didn't appear to grasp.

"Do you bloody hear yourself?" Rowena exploded, bursting with anger. Her fingers balled into fists, skin taut and sheet-white on her knuckles. "I'm bisexual, so I must be unfaithful, is it? What bloody century are you from, Lucifer?"

She knew he was ignorant, but this?

Disgusting.

She was a lot of things, but she'd never been unfaithful. Had never cheated on neither him nor the boys before him.

That wasn't her.

She _did_ have feelings for you, quite strong ones, but she'd never acted on them. Would never do so. Not when she was in a relationship.

The fact that he even thought so…

You were right. She deserved better. Much better than the brute in front of her.

"Oh, don't give me that shit! It's a risk and you know it!"

A risk?

A bloody risk?

That was what he thought about her? That she was at risk of cheating? For no reason other than her sexuality?

"That is," he added, "unless you've already gone through with it."

_Goodness!_

Rowena was brimming with anger. Boiling hot and dangerous. "You're an arsehole!"

Even worse — an ignorant arsehole.

Why was she surprised?

She'd heard him say worse. Had seen him _do_ worse. She'd been the recipient of his arseholery more times than she dared count.

Lucifer was a bastard. A colossal numbnut. A cunt.

This wasn't new behaviour.

He'd always been this way. Rowena had just refused to see it for seeing it would make it real, would shatter her illusion of a relationship that should have been perfect but was everything but.

A relationship she'd dreamed of, only to end up in a nightmare.

She should have broken it up.

Right here.

Right now.

She should have said the magic words and ended it once and for all.

But…

If she did that, what would she have? Who would she be?

If she lost Lucifer, she would lose Olivette — and with her the rest of their little group — along with him. Olivette would never forgive her for giving him up. Especially over something so—

No.

It wasn't stupid.

She had legitimate reasons to leave him.

But Olivette wouldn't give a damn.

All she would see would be Rowena leaving Lucifer over a meaningless girl, a girl Rowena shouldn't be friends with in the first place, unwritten rules and all. Nothing else would matter. Hell, Rowena was pretty sure Olivette would think her a liar if she were to tell her about the abuse.

Without Olivette, Rowena had nothing. _Was_ nothing. Just like back in Scotland, and that was something she'd sworn on her life never to go back to.

She couldn't break up with Lucifer, no matter how much she wanted to, no matter how right doing so would be.

There was too much at stake.

"What am I supposed to think when you're always with her?" Lucifer said. "I barely see you!"

"I told you we'd be studying for the midterm!" Rowena snapped.

"Every fucking day!"

"Oh, don't be bloody dramatic! It's not every day."

Almost every day.

_Almost._

You weren't strictly studying all the time. Plenty of laughs were exchanged, jokes told, stupid movies watched and mocked.

It was easy to hang out with you. Freeing. She didn't have to put on a show every time, pretend to be somebody she wasn't.

With Lucifer, everything she did, every word she told, every expression on her face was calculated, planned. A chore more demanding than those her mother sometimes asked her to do.

With you, on the other hand, she could just be herself. No social norms to uphold. No regulations. No rules. Just fun.

"Might as well be," Lucifer said. "You see her more than you see me."

Because you understood her.

Because you were kind to her.

Because you respected her.

Because being with you felt right, while being with him felt like a chore, an obligation. A duty she upheld only because it was expected of her.

You might have been a nobody in the school's hierarchy, but you were worth a million — a trillion — Lucifers.

"Maybe I'd see you more if you weren't such a numbnut!" Rowena spat.

Lucifer gave her a look that threatened murder. "So it's my fault you're cheating?"

"For the last time, I am _not_ cheating!" But, good god, she was tempted. After everything, she wanted to do it just to piss him off. "Why are you so hung up over this? Are _you_ trying to hide something?"

That caught him off guard. "What?"

"Fergus told me he saw you with another girl."

She'd chalked it up to her brother being a nuisance. But what if he'd told her the truth? What if he'd really seen Lucifer cheat?

Now that she thought of it, it didn't sound like Fergus to make things like that up. He was a colossal numbnut, a constant pain in her arse, but he didn't lie. He never did. He wouldn't have told her he'd seen Lucifer with another girl if it wasn't true.

He most likely wanted to piss her off rather than help her, but whatever his intentions were, Rowena was certain of one thing — her brother was no liar.

Lucifer was appalled by the accusation. "And you believe him?"

"Should I?" Rowena inquired, raising a questioning eyebrow.

"No! You know your brother. He's an annoying little shit. He'd do anything to fuck with you."

"Och, I don't know. He seemed quite honest to me."

More honest, in fact, than Lucifer was being right now.

"This is ridiculous!"

"Is it? You seem quite intent on shifting the blame on me," she pointed out. "Almost like you're projecting."

"Fuck you, Rowena!"

"So you _are."_

He might not have said yes, but it was all the confirmation she needed.

He _had_ cheated.

To her surprise, Rowena didn't feel anything. She expected there to be at least a shred of disappointment, a slight pang of heartache. Something. Anything.

There was nothing.

Her emotions were a blank, a canvas that used to be bright with colors, that was now as empty as the walls that surrounded her.

She thought she loved him, but she didn't. Whatever it was she'd clung to all this time, through all the bad and horrible, it wasn't affection.

Lucifer cheated on her, and it didn't hurt. Not a single bit.

"You've some nerve to throw accusations at me when you're the one fucking around!"

New anger bubbled in her, hot as lava in her veins. How dare he treat her like that? How dare he act as if she were the villain?

How dare he put his hands on you, try to chase you out of her life under the guise of a caring boyfriend, while stabbing her in the back with razor-sharp knives?

Rage flashed in his eyes, red hot, steaming. His hands gripped her shoulders, fingers digging into her sensitive skin deep enough to leave bruises. In a swift, practiced motion, he pushed her back, straight into the hard wall.

Rowena gasped. Pain exploded in her back, running down the length of her spine. The familiar fear filled her, but she swallowed it, held it back for as long as she could. She wouldn't let him break her. Never again.

She'd had enough of being his quiet little punching bag.

"Maybe I wouldn't need to look for company if my girlfriend actually spent time with me!" he snarled. No more lies. No facades. Just the truth in all its ugly glory.

"Maybe I would spend time with you if you weren't such a brute!" she retorted.

Two could play this game.

And, god, she was ready for her turn.

"I'm just protecting what's mine."

She snorted. "Aren't you prince Charming?"

The slap came swiftly, snapped across her left cheek like the crack of a whip. Her head flung sideways, skin tingling, nerves on fire.

She bit back the pain. "Is this your way of protecting me?"

He brought his hand to her chest. Pressed it against it. Shoved his face in hers, the look in his eyes dark, threatening. "You're _mine,_ Rowena. I made you."

So he kept saying.

And he had — were it not for him and Olivette, she would have been a nobody, just another pathetic girl in the crowd.

Still…

He didn't get to treat her like this.

Didn't get to push her around. Hit her. Threaten her.

Didn't get to cheat on her.

But what could she do about it?

He was the one with all the power.

She was just borrowing it.

"I'm not gonna let you go around tarnishing my name by hanging around nobodies."

Rowena had to chuckle at that. "You do a bloody good job at that yourself."

Another slap.

Mustering up her strength, she pushed him away, then slapped him right back.

His fist retaliated immediately, connecting with her nose in a painful thump. A trickle of blood slid from her nostril, trailing over her lips before dripping onto her shirt. His hands were on her in a split second, one slamming into her shoulder while the other wrapped around her neck like a snake.

"Truth hurts, doesn't it?" she wheezed, struggling for breath.

His grip tightened.

"You've grown quite a mouth these past few months," he said. "Courtesy of your new friend, I take it."

Rowena gulped. She couldn't breathe, couldn't think, all the words in her head a jumble, a mess she couldn't decipher. Her heart raced madly, pounded against her chest so hard it hurt.

"I've always had a mouth," she wanted to say, but couldn't.

She couldn't say anything.

Couldn't _do_ anything.

She tried to swing at him, tried to push him away, but he subdued her with ease. As if her attempts at resistance were nothing.

She had no chance.

She couldn't fight him off. Couldn't defend herself. Couldn't tell him to his face how much she loathed him, how her soul burned with it.

"I don't like it," Lucifer added in a low voice, almost a purr.

Rowena's stomach turned with disgust.

"F-f-f-f-f—" she tried, willing — begging — the words to break free.

He smirked, enjoying her struggle. "What was that?"

His grip loosened a tad; not much, but enough for her to take a gulp of breath and shout, with everything she had, "F-fuck you!"

He responded by slamming her back in the wall, harder than before. She gasped, new pain taking over, as the back of her head slammed against the hard surface. Her ears rang like an alarm going off, loud, deafening.

A slap came, sharp against her cheek. Then another. And another.

Then, growling like a wild, deadly animal, Lucifer backhanded her and she collapsed to the hardwood floor, limp as a statue.

Her knees exploded with pain as they connected with the floor, bones screaming, nerves tingling, white hot. She pushed herself up by her palms. She sucked in breaths, deep, painful; her throat burned, but she kept gasping like a fish out of water, swallowing the sweet, so, so precious oxygen she'd been denied.

"From now on, we're doing things my way," Lucifer said. "I tried to compromise, but you keep finding loopholes. No more." He crouched down next to her. "You are to cut all contact with Sam Winchester and especially Y/N."

Her neck was in agony, but Rowena willed herself to look up at him. Locked her eyes with his in a look of pure defiance, of spite, of everything she was feeling about him. "No."

His behaviour had made the decision easy.

He didn't get to order her around.

Not anymore.

He cupped her bruised cheek. She flinched, expecting another slap, but his touch was strangely gentle, caring.

An attempt at manipulation she wasn't falling for anymore.

"Don't you see what they're doing to us? What _she's_ doing to us?" he said sweetly, dark features softening up. The picture of a caring boyfriend. A sloppy forgery. "She's ruining us, Rowena."

Rowena was disgusted. "You're the one who's ruining us, _Lucifer."_ She spat his name as if it was poison.

He bit back another outburst, urging the facade to remain. "I just want to spend some quality time with my girl. What's so wrong with that?"

"Something is wrong with _you,"_ she retorted.

He quirked up an eyebrow. "Is it now?"

"You're unhinged!"

She knew she should keep her mouth shut. Knew she shouldn't provoke him, shouldn't anger him further. But she didn't care.

She was done being his victim. Done keeping quiet while he threw tantrums like an overgrown child. Done letting him do what he wanted, letting him get away with things just because he was her boyfriend.

She was so bloody done with him.

"You think beating on me makes you a man? Think twice, Lucille!" She shot him a glare that threatened death. "What you are is a _coward!"_

Lucifer shot up to stand upright and swung his foot, landing it in her gut. She grunted, her hand instantly pressing against the new point of pain.

"You're a bitch!" he snarled.

Rowena chuckled through the pain. "Just as I said — a coward."

"Shut your mouth!"

He kicked her again, this time in the ribs, eliciting a loud yelp.

"Bloody coward," she kept on. "Can't get me to spend time with you, so you try to beat me into it. And you wonder why I keep avoiding you."

"Don't—" a kick "—turn—" another "—this—" and another "—around—" one more "—on—" another, strongest one "—me!"

Rowena couldn't hold it in anymore — she howled as loudly as her raw throat allowed, like a wounded animal begging for help.

She knew well enough none would come.

She was alone with Lucifer in his huge house.

No one could hear her screams.

No one would rush in to help her.

No one knew what he was doing to her.

She curled into a ball like a cat, wrapped her arms over her stomach in attempts to soften the blows.

It didn't work.

Lucifer kept kicking her.

Everywhere.

Her arms, ribs, thighs — the rain of blows landed everywhere, struck down like a downpour of pain.

"You pathetic little man," she rasped, barely audible. Her strength had left her; she was hanging by a thread, by sheer force of will. She had but a speck of fight left in her, wee traces of defiance that dissipated with every new strike.

Her face suddenly exploded with pain, raw and angry. Lucifer's hard-soled boot struck her directly in the cheek, mere millimeters from her nose.

She screamed, hand shooting up to cover her throbbing face.

There was no way she was going to be able to hide these injuries.

Clothes and makeup used to do the trick.

But this — this was too much.

He'd never beaten her like this before.

What was she going to tell her family?

What was she going to tell the teachers?

What was she going to tell _you?_

Lucifer gave a small laugh that sent cold shivers down her spine. "Look at yourself. So… squirmy. Yet you call _me_ pathetic."

 _Because you are,_ she thought.

She tried to voice it, but her mouth trembled too much to let the words out.

Maybe he was right.

Maybe she was pathetic.

It didn't make him any less so.

A silence fell between them, shattered only by her gasps and hitches.

Then he said in a voice cold as ice, "Get out. I can't stand to look at you."

The feeling was mutual.

Rowena remained lying down for a few moments, gathering up strength she didn't have. Slowly, cautiously, she pushed herself up by her elbows and worked her way up to her knees. Her body was in agony, protesting every movement, but she pushed through it.

She needed to get out.

Needed to get away from him.

Needed to make herself some tea and lock herself in her room until the pain subsided and fear that froze her blood dissipated.

Grabbing onto the bed frame for support, she pulled herself to her feet. Her legs were throbbing, shaking under the weight of her body. She took a step toward the door and stumbled, quickly leaning against the wall to keep her balance.

Lucifer stood aside. His eyes tracked her movements, mouth curled into a smirk at her misery.

The bastard was enjoying this.

Rowena turned her head. He wasn't there, she told herself. She was alone and she needed to get out. Lucifer didn't exist.

It was a chore, but she managed to stumble out of his room. She kept an iron grip on the stair railing as she descended, slowly picking up the pace with each step.

One foot in front of the other.

One, then the other.

She could do it.

Once she was outside, she took a deep, long breath. The icy air chilled her lungs, but she kept swallowing it, kept sucking it in.

She was free.

Finally, after what felt like hours, she was free.

The night had already fallen, the moon, full and bright, hanging up in the sky like a lantern, lighting up the town. Ice had started forming on the pathway, the concrete slippery under her boots.

Rowena kept on walking.

Step by step.

One foot in front of the other.

She could do it.

She could make it home.

She could do anything now that she was away from Lucifer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited by miss-moon-guardian.


	20. On Thin Ice

If the frozen, slippery roads and pathways didn't kill you, you were sure the midterm would.

As if it wasn't enough that you had to keep track of months' worth of Math lessons — the traffic had made three separate attempts on your life on your way to school, though thankfully (or, rather, unfortunately. If you were dead, you wouldn't have to do the midterm) you'd managed to avert each by grabbing walls or radom poles to keep yourself on your feet.

Winter was a bitch.

Today of all days.

It was clear to you from the moment you'd opened your eyes that it would be a horrible, horrible day.

The frozen ground and your various close encounters with it were proof enough.

What confirmed it, though, was walking into your Math classroom and noticing the seat you'd counted on being occupied was empty.

Rowena wasn't there.

Seconds ticked by, the clock that hung above the board clicking with each one.

She wasn't coming.

Even as Ms. Hanscum wrote down presences and absences and handed out papers while going over instructions, she never showed up.

Was she sick again?

Had she slipped and fell on her way to school like you almost did?

Had she gotten hurt?

Rowena was a lot of things, but she loved her studies. She wouldn't ditch, especially not on such an important day. Whatever the reason for her absence was, it had to be serious.

You looked back to her seat longingly, eyes falling upon the empty chair. You thought she would be there — daydreamed about it — with that smug, satisfied smile on her face. That she would look at you, give you that smile she always gave you when she tutored you, the one of encouragement, of praise, that said, "You can do it" without a single word spoken aloud, and you would believe it because she was Rowena MacLeod and she'd never let you down before.

Dean caught your glance. He put on a big, goofy grin and held up his thumbs. You returned the gesture.

It was something.

He wasn't Rowena, but it was something.

Any shred of support was most welcome.

There was rumbling in the classroom, murmurs of voices whispering nervously. Friends encouraging friends. Groans and moans and privately-exchanged complaints. Then Ms. Hanscum announced the midterm was to start and everyone fell silent as if under a spell.

You scanned the paper with your eyes, heart beating wildly. The problems looked familiar, some of them strangely easy; Rowena had prepared you well. You instantly went to work. The sooner you got it over with, the better.

There were plenty of things you didn't know, numbers and formulas that confused you, but by the time the bell rang, you'd managed to complete the exam. Your nerves were going off like electric sparks the entire time, heart jumping with each number you wrote down.

You could do it, you kept telling yourself. You knew these lessons, had gone over them countless times with Rowena.

You could pass the damn midterm.

Your heart raced as you handed the paper over to Ms. Hanscum and exited the classroom. What if you didn't pass? What if all you thought you knew was wrong? What if—

No.

You weren't going to do this to yourself.

You'd studied, and while there was a lot of stuff you didn't know, a considerable amount you _did._

You would get a D, at the very least.

You would pass.

You hurried to the bathroom and splashed some cold water on your face, washing away the concern that ate at you like acid. You were being silly. It was just an exam. A pretty important one, but still, it was just a piece of paper. One year from now, you would barely remember what was on it.

Christmas holidays were nearing; one more day and you were free.

Fuck the midterm.

You could worry about it in January.

That's right — it was future you's problem.

You found your friends in the cafeteria, occupying a small table. Sam was nibbling on a salad, while Meg, Castiel, and Dean seemed to be competing on who could eat their hamburger the fastest.

Meg was winning.

Crowley was sipping on his thermos. You took a sit next to him and grabbed the it, taking a small gulp — and instantly regretted it.

You slammed the thermos on the table and started coughing, the bitter taste burning at your throat. "Whiskey with coffee? Seriously?"

He just smirked. "I'm a genius."

"You're an idiot."

"You're bringing alcohol to school?" Sam asked, outraged.

Crowley shot him an amused look. "I'm sorry, does it offend your delicate sensibilities?"

"You can't do that!"

"I _did."_ He took a long swig and licked his lips.

Your face twisted with disgust. "You're gross."

"Can't believe I'm saying this, but assface is onto something here," Meg said through a mouthful of her hamburger.

Crowley gestured to her. "You heard the lady."

Sam rolled his eyes, then sighed. "How'd the midterm go?"

"Okay, I guess," you said honestly. "I think I'll pass."

"Me, too!" Dean beamed. He took a large bite, swallowed it, then said, "Sam stayed up all night tutoring me!"

Sam shot him his signature bitchface. "Which I wouldn't have had to do if _someone_ studied on time."

"I was busy," his brother replied, shrugging.

"Doing what? Reading Busty Asian Beauties?"

 _"Watching_ them. No one reads magazines anymore, Sam. Keep up."

"Yeah, Sam. Keep up," you snarked, earning you a bitchface as well. You turned to Crowley. "Where's your sister? She wasn't in Math."

An amused grin spread across his face. Too amused for your liking.

What had he done now?

"She slipped on ice last night. Fell right on her face." He laughed as if it was the funniest thing in the world. "You should've seen her. She looks like she wrestled a bear."

"W-what?"

Your voice broke as the word slipped from your mouth before you could stop it. Your heart stopped, froze in place. A chill, bitter, unsettling, slithered down your spine like thousands of insects creeping underneath your skin as unease, discomfort, washed over you, drenched you whole like a bitter downpour.

"Yes. Returning from her pimp's dwelling." Crowley smirked, then shrugged. "Maybe she had a rough date."

_Oh, god._

"I'll sort it out with Lucifer," Rowena had said — promised, vowed — yesterday.

She'd meant it; you could see it in her eyes, the determination, the anger at his treatment of you. The rage that he'd gone after you on her behalf. Tried to tear you away from her.

She would take care if the issue.

And, if he threw another tantrum about it, he wasn't the boy for her.

Her words.

You'd clung to them since they first fell from her mouth. Went to sleep with them roiling in your head, an endless echo. Allowed a sliver of hope to light up inside you.

It was a hopeless kind of hope, one of a desperate, lovestruck teenager, but it was hope nonetheless.

What if she hadn't fallen?

What if Lucifer had hurt her?

_Oh, god. Oh, god. Oh, god._

"She's fine," Crowley said, noticing the sudden shift on your face. "Don't worry, kitten. As much as it saddens me, she'll live."

"I know," you said, feigning nonchalance. Badly. "I just…"

He rolled his eyes. "The claws are in good."

Your response was a middle finger raised high and proud.

He was right — Rowena had dug the claws in and clung to you for dear life.

And you held her to you, hoping — wishing — with all you had that she never let go.

* * *

You waited until later that afternoon before heading to the MacLeods' residence. You needed to see Rowena, needed to talk to her alone, and you couldn't do that with Crowley slinking about. So you went over when you were sure he would be out; the boy was as predictable as he was annoying. With Ms. MacLeod at work and little Gavin playing in his room, oblivious to their troubles, you and Rowena basically had the house to yourselves.

If only you'd come over under better circumstances.

Maybe you were overreacting. Maybe she really had fallen.

But, with Lucifer the way he was yesterday, and her eagerness to confront him, you couldn't be sure.

You wouldn't put anything past the bastard.

The ground was still frozen, a new layer starting to form with the nightfall, air chilly enough to freeze the blood in your veins. Despite that, slowly but carefully you managed to make your way to the MacLeods' house.

You ran the bell, and the familiar voice shouted in that usual, annoyed tone, "Alright, alright! I'm coming!"

Your heart swelled with warmth. Injured or not, she was still the same Rowena you knew and loved.

She opened the door, and as your eyes landed on her, a loud, startled gasp broke free before you could try to stop it.

A bruise spread all over her left cheek, a deep, rich purple, as if someone had smeared a crayon over her skin. Her right cheek was red, raw; the color barely stood out, but you could tell it was more than a flush.

"Damn," you uttered.

"Aye. Damn," she repeated sarcastically, rolling her eyes. "Mind getting in? It's quite cold outside."

"Yeah, no shit."

You hung your coat on the hanger, then followed her to her room. She was limping, painfully so; she tried to walk normally, tried to hide it, but her body refused to cooperate. Her lips were a firm line, shut tight. Teeth no doubt gritted to hold back pained hisses and yelps.

"So," she said, sitting down on the bed with a relieved sigh, "what brings you here?"

"Crowley told me you got hurt."

"Aye. Slipped on ice yesterday. Fell on my face." She chuckled. "Bloody lucky, aren't I?"

Right.

"Must've hurt," you said.

"Like a bitch."

The smile on her mouth was nervous. Deceitful. Fake, but not enough to fool you. She pulled her turtleneck further up to her chin and wrapped her arms around her chest as if she were cold, despite the room being fairly warm. The muscles in her legs were taut, tense, imprinted perfectly on her skin-tight leggings.

Those weren't the clothes she usually wore at home.

They weren't the clothes she wore anywhere.

Was she trying to hide something? More bruises, perhaps? Possibly worse than the one on her face — the one she couldn't hide.

If she were trying to keep warm, she wouldn't have gone barefoot. She would have turned the heat up and wrapped herself up in a blanket.

Your heart raced as the realization settled in.

Before it was just a suspicion, but now you knew.

She was lying.

Whatever had happened, it was far from what she'd claimed.

Mustering up the courage, you said, "How about you tell me what really happened?"

Rowena gulped. Something dark, fearful, flickered on her face, but she quickly smoothed it out. "What do you mean?"

"Come on, Rowena. I'm not stupid. You didn't slip and fall."

"Are you calling me a liar?"

Well… yes.

Wasn't the first time.

You sighed. Sucked in a deep breath. "Did… did Lucifer hurt you?"

"What?" Her eyes were wide at the suggestion, bewildered. She turned her head. "Why would you ask that?"

You were right.

A lump formed in your throat, painful to swallow.

Good god, you were right.

"Because he's a psychopath."

She said nothing to that. Gave in to the silence. As if she hadn't heard a word you'd said.

You tried again, "Did he do this to you?"

"No," she said in an absent, distant tone. An automatic response. A lie, a blatant one.

"Rowena—"

"He did nothing to me!" she snapped, turning back to look at you. Her eyes were filled with tears, the bitter liquid sliding down her cheeks like a downpour.

You flinched at the outburst as if struck.

Regret flashed over Rowena's face, hung over it like a painting.

She didn't mean to snap; you knew she didn't. She was a lot of things, but she was never mean to you. Never rude, cruel.

She'd lashed out.

Like an animal chased into a corner, scared and hurt, she reacted. She followed her instinct and went for the defensive.

As she'd done many times in the past.

As she'd _learned._

Who knew how many times she'd had to do this? How many times she'd had to lie to cover up what Lucifer had done for fiction was easier — less painful, less complicated — than truth?

No one wanted to be a victim.

Least of all Rowena MacLeod.

The girl you knew was a fighter, a survivor. Admitting to the abuse would tarnish that image. How could she be this strong, tough girl who took no shit from anyone, the girl who ruled the school with an iron fist, if she let her boyfriend push her around? How could she uphold her reputation if she allowed him to use her as his punching bag?

A pang of pain shot through your heart. Ripped at it like talons digging in, tearing it apart, shattering it into thousands of pieces.

It was wrong.

This — all of this — was so, so wrong.

Rowena hadn't done anything wrong.

She didn't deserve to look so dejected, so ashamed. So vulnerable that it hurt, physically hurt to keep your eyes on her.

"Whatever happened, it's not your fault," you said in your softest, gentlest tone. "You didn't do anything wrong."

She gulped. Curled her fingers into the bed cover, tight against the fabric, knuckles white as bone. "I know," she said in a small voice, barely audible even in the silence of the house.

Good.

That was good.

It wasn't much, but at least she wasn't blaming herself.

Slowly, carefully, you took a seat next to her on the bed. She had no objections, made no attempts to get away.

Another good thing.

You had her trust.

"Can you tell me what happened?"

"I…" Tears prickled at her eyes, staining them red as blood. A few slid down her cheek; she wiped them away with her sleeve, only for more to pour in their place. "We had a fight."

"You and Lucifer?"

"Aye."

You figured as much.

With a nod, you prompted, "Was is about what happened in the bathroom?"

She gave a nod on her own, a small one, barely noticeable.

"I'm sorry," you said.

She looked at you as if you'd suddenly grown a second head. "You haven't done anything."

True.

You haven't.

The reasonable part of you knew that.

But you couldn't shake the guilt that roared within you, turned your stomach around like a storm.

Lucifer wanted you gone. He wanted you out of Rowena's life, and she wouldn't let you go. She wouldn't give you up, no matter how many tantrums he threw.

So he hurt her.

He hit her.

He _beat_ her.

Your teeth clenched tightly as realization settled in, made itself at home.

Lucifer beat Rowena.

Because of you.

Tears brimmed up in your eyes; you held them back, willed them to wait. Rowena was hurt. The last thing she needed was to see you cry.

After all, this wasn't about you.

You were the cause, the heart of the conflict, but Rowena was the victim.

She was the one who bore the bruises, the pain both physical and emotional.

All because she wouldn't give you up.

Your heart ached for her, longed for her, loved her so much every beat hurt.

She'd changed.

She wasn't the mean girl anymore. Wasn't the stereotype you hated, loathed, wanted to avoid at all costs.

You doubted she ever was.

She'd always been the girl in front of you, the soft, sweet, vulnerable thing who loved and cared and hurt just like everyone else. She'd simply hid it behind a facade — a bad one, if you dare say so, for, thinking it through, she'd never actually been cruel. She'd never hurt anyone on her own. Never bullied for the fun of it. Her friends were always at the center of it. She may have pointed and laughed along, but, as despicable as it was, she'd never landed the first blow.

"I know," you said. "I just… I'm sorry."

Rowena nodded.

"How bad is it?"

She stiffened.

Shit.

Whatever he'd done, it had to have been horrible.

"Can I see?"

"You shouldn't," she said in a small, small voice. Wounded. Broken. Shattered into millions of pieces.

The bastard would pay for doing this to her. You swore it on your life.

"It's okay." You laid a hand on her shoulder, your touch soft, gentle. Her eyes were on yours, fat tears trailing down, your own ones following suit. "You can show me." Your hand slid up and down her arm, caressing her. Comforting her. Letting her know that she was safe, that you were here, and nothing like this would ever happen again. "It's okay."

Rowena sighed. Her eyes closed for a moment, and she sucked in a deep breath. A few moments passed by in silence, uncomfortable, deafening. Then her shaky hand slithered up to her neck and she pulled her shirt down; not much, but enough to show skin, tender and bruised, raw and purple.

_Jesus!_

You barely suppressed a gasp.

Various shades of purple were sprawled over her neck, light and dark fading into one another. A few particularly dark, circular spots stood out. Richer than the others, deeper in color.

Fingers.

The bastard had left imprints of his fingers on her like grim tattoos, reminders of what he'd done.

His brands.

Not permanent, but lasting enough to make her relive the pain every time she looked in the mirror, to make her flash back to the awful moments when he choked her, squeezed her neck until she was gasping for breath.

Eyes turning sideways, avoiding yours, Rowena pulled up her sleeves and, finally, exposed her stomach.

This time you did gasp, loudly.

Her forearms and stomach were a mess of bruises, almost every inch of her skin covered in hues of purple.

"Oh, god!"

It slipped out before you could try to stop it.

The images seared into your brain, into the depth of your soul.

Purple everywhere.

So much of it.

It had to have hurt.

Good god, the girl must have been in unimaginable pain.

You let the tears fall freely, no strength left to contain them.

This was wrong. So very, very wrong.

The bastard didn't get to do this, didn't get to make her into his punching bag and get away with it.

Something had to be done.

"You should go to the police," you said, mind already conjuring up images of him in chains, trapped in a dark, lone cell, alone and miserable.

Rowena pulled her shirt back over her injuries. "No." Her response was firm, decisive. She'd already made up her mind.

And you'd made up yours. "He has to pay for what he did to you."

"I'm not reporting him."

You stared, incredulous. Baffled. "Why?"

Who was this person?

It certainly wasn't the Rowena you knew.

The girl you knew was strong. She knew her worth and didn't let anyone treat her like shit. She stood her ground. Fought back. Made her voice heard no matter who wanted to silence it.

Why was she covering for Lucifer?

What was it about that boy that made him worth her pain, her dignity?

"I don't want to," she said nonchalantly, as if she were talking about the weather.

You looked at her as if she'd just confessed to murdering your entire family. "What? Why?"

She gave you a quick glance, then got to her feet and, on wobbly legs, limped over to the window. Far away from you. Back turned in your direction.

You stood up right after she did. "Rowena?"

"I told you I'm not reporting him," she said coldly. "Drop it."

"You know damn well I can't do that."

She may have been okay with Lucifer being a neanderthal, but you weren't.

She stiffened. In a softer, calmed voice, she said, "Y/N, please."

She sounded so broken, so shattered.

A pang of pain shot through your heart.

She _wasn't_ okay with it.

She wanted Lucifer to pay, too, but she couldn't do it. Something was holding her back.

"He can't do this to you," you told her. "It's wrong."

She gave a bitter chuckle. "Lots of things are wrong in life, dear. We can't fix them all."

"No, but we _can_ fix this."

She shook her head. "We can't. I'm far too gone. There is no coming back."

"There's always a way back."

"Not for me. I can't."

"Why?"

"Because…" She sucked in a breath. Took a moment to compose herself. "There are things about me that you don't know."

Plenty of them, you were sure. Still… "Whatever it is you did, or think you did, you don't deserve this."

"I don't, but… there is a price for everything."

"This is too high a price," you argued.

"Maybe so," she conceded, "but I have to pay it. I can't lose everything." She finally faced you, face red with dripping tears. "I can't go back to the bottom."

You frowned, confused. "What are you talking about?"

"It's just a few more months. Then I'm free. I can handle it for a few more months."

"Handle what? Lucifer?" Your eyes widened in horror. "You're going back to him?"

Hurt flashed over her face as she replied, "What other choice do I have?"

"You have plenty of choices!"

None of which involved going back to that monster.

Why was she refusing help?

Why was she doing this to herself?

"You don't understand, Y/N."

"Then explain it to me!" you demanded, voice breaking. "Please. Tell me why."

"I'm doing what's best for me."

No.

No, she wasn't.

"I don't expect you to understand. I just… I want you to respect my choice."

"I can't do that."

She gave a sad smile. "I know. At least pretend? It will be best for the both of us."

"I can't do that, either," you whispered. "I…"

_I love you._

The words caught in your throat, too tight, too constricted to let them out.

You couldn't tell her.

Couldn't lay such a burden on her.

Not here, not now.

Instead, you said, "I'm your _friend."_

And with that, you left.

You cried all the way back home and up until you laid down to sleep.

The images of what Lucifer had done, the sea of purple, kept flashing in your mind.

Lucifer hadn't just hit her — he'd beat her senselessly, cruelly, so hard she could barely walk. He'd choked her to the point of leaving imprints of his fingers.

Next time he got mad, he could kill her.

He _would_ kill her.

Rowena may have been okay with that, but you weren't. You would never be okay with him abusing her. Would never respect her choice to take it, to live with it, no matter how hard she wanted you to.

You cared about her _— loved_ her — too much for that.

But what could you do?

You couldn't go to the police on her behalf. Couldn't go to the teachers, let alone the Principal.

You were helpless.

Completely and utterly helpless.

Or…

Maybe not.

An idea suddenly popped up in your mind.

It was far from perfect, bound to end up in a mess, but it would do something.

Most likely not much, but you weren't in a position to choose.

Maybe all hope wasn't lost after all.

With those thoughts of possibilities, of various outcomes, after almost the entirety of the night twisting and turning with grim images in your head, you drifted off to a short, blissful sleep.

You dreamed of Rowena in your arms, safe and sound and happy.

You couldn't make it reality, but you could certainly try.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited by miss-moon-guardian.


	21. Family Matters

You'd spent the majority of the night tossing and turning, and by the time your alarm sounded you'd barely gotten half an hour of sleep which, thanks to the dream you'd had, at least made you feel a little — a teensy, tiny bit — better.

Your nerves were on fire, muscles tense, adrenaline hot in your blood like a drug. Thoughts of Rowena never left your head. Of her voice; so weak, so broken. Of her body; bruised, wounded, cracked like porcelain barely keeping itself from shattering into thousands of pieces.

Images kept flashing in your mind, vivid like photographs.

Purple.

So much purple.

Dark. Light. Hues bleeding into one another like a morbid painting.

What that animal must have done to her to inflict such injuries…

God.

She had to have been in so much pain.

Had she been able to sleep?

Were her thoughts as haunted by what happened as yours were throughout the night?

Did her wounds scream and protest at every little move she made, every breath she took, every vibration of her heart?

It was wrong.

That was the only thing you could think about as you got ready for school and hit the frozen streets.

What Lucifer had done to Rowena was wrong.

He had to pay.

If Rowena wasn't going to make him, you would.

Maybe you were wrong, too, the traitorous part of your brain nagged at you. Maybe you should let it go. They were a couple; what went around in their relationship was their business. You had no right to get involved.

_No._

You had every right.

Rowena was your friend. You cared about her. You _loved_ her.

How could you look her in the eyes, knowing there were bruises under her clothes and makeup? How could you face her without at the very least _trying_ to help her?

You'd made up your mind.

No amount of doubt would change it.

She could hate you all she wanted. She could scream at you, call you names, tell you she never wanted to see you again. She could cast you out of her life and never speak a word with you again.

You were okay with that.

It would hurt like hell, but the pain would be nothing compared to what you felt now, watching her let that monster treat her like his human punching bag.

You would rather love her from a distance than mourn her in a casket.

To your surprise, Rowena was at school. You saw her the moment you stepped inside. Your eyes met for a brief instance; she sent a small smile your way, and you responded with a nod, too tired, too fed up with everything to return it. The bruise on her face was painfully visible. You could tell she'd tried to hide it with makeup, but at best she'd made it lighter.

Foundation could only do so much.

Olivette stood beside her, talking animatedly about something you didn't give a damn about. Her little posse was there, absorbing every word she said like the faithful puppies they were. Rowena gave a nod here and there, clearly distracted, head high up in the clouds.

Lucifer was a few feet away, talking to a group of jocks. Laughing as if he'd just heard the funniest joke in the world.

Your stomach turned. Fingers twisted into fists. Teeth clenched almost painfully.

He didn't get to laugh after what he'd done.

He didn't get to stand that close to her.

Turning on your heel, you went to look for your friends. Everyone was already there, strangely energetic for this early hour.

Last days of school had that effect on people.

"I see your sister's back in school," you said after exchanging greetings.

Crowley groaned. "Mother wanted her to stay home, but she insisted."

"Stubborn cookie."

"You have no idea."

Oh, you did.

You wished you didn't, but you did. Very much so.

A lump formed in your throat, a nervous one, and you swallowed it.

This was it, you told yourself. It was now or never.

Mustering up courage, you turned to Crowley and said, "Can we talk for a moment? Alone?"

Everyone looked at you as if you'd just propositioned him for sex.

Dean's smirk made it clear that was exactly what he was thinking.

Great.

Fucking great.

"It's important," you said, hoping your tone gave away the seriousness of the situation.

Crowley winked. "You know I'm all yours, girl."

You rolled your eyes.

You should have expected this.

He followed you to a corner, away from your little gang. The last thing you wanted was to alienate your friends, but you had to do it. You couldn't blurt everything out in front of them.

This was for Crowley's ears only.

"So?" he said. "What's so important that the stooges can't hear it?"

_Here we go._

"It-it's about Rowena," you said carefully.

He sighed, annoyance flashing over his face. "If this is another one of your inquiries about her past life—"

"No," you quickly said. "This is serious. I swear."

He quirked up an eyebrow, skeptical. Looking for signs of deception, of falsehood on your face. Finding none, he gave a nod. "Alright. Talk."

Relieved, you let out a breath you'd been holding.

Crowley was the king of drama, but he wasn't unreasonable. He could be serious, could be talked to. He and Rowena may not have gotten along, but, in their own strange way, they loved each other as any siblings did.

If anyone could help you help Rowena, it was him.

He wasn't the most ideal choice, but, aside from the police (who could do nothing without a complaining victim) and teachers (whom you didn't trust much with Principal Shurley in charge), he was the only person you had left.

"She lied," you said.

Crowley raised an eyebrow. "About what?"

"She didn't slip and fall."

You gulped. Breathed in and out. It felt like you were betraying Rowena, betraying her trust, by talking about this. She'd confided in you, trusted you with her weaknesses, with her vulnerabilities, and here you were, spilling your guts to her brother.

Because she needed help, you reminded yourself.

Because she was hurt and scared and confused, and her boyfriend was using it, taking advantage of it, to make her into his punching bag.

What kind of a friend would you be if you kept quiet and let it happen again?

Besides, you told yourself, trying to ease your conscience, you hadn't made any promises to keep her secret.

All you were doing was being her friend.

If that was wrong, you never wanted to be right again.

Crowley furrowed his brows. The corners of his mouth curled upward, an amused smirk creeping over his face. "She didn't? Should've known the little whore was lying. Care tell, what _did_ happen?"

Another wave of betrayal swept you over.

Rowena's wasn't the only world you were about to shatter.

Crowley was expecting an interesting story. Something to poke fun and laugh at. To tease her about over dinner and use as a punchline of jokes only he thought were funny.

What was he going to do when he found out what happened?

Would he still think it funny?

_No way!_

The thought was discarded as soon as it appeared.

Crowley was a lot of things, but he wasn't cruel. He would never do anything to hurt — truly, genuinely hurt — his sister.

"Lucifer beat her."

There.

You said it.

No taking it back. No pretending it was a mistake, a sick joke.

You told Crowley the truth.

And, god, you felt like you wanted to die.

Your heart raced in your chest, pounded against your ribcage like a hammer with almost painful force.

What if you'd made a mistake?

What if he thought you were lying?

Crowley blinked. One time. Two. Stared at you as if you'd suddenly grown horns. "What?"

"He beat her," you repeated, voice as shaky as your hands. "And I think he's done it before. I mean, she didn't say anything, but the way she was acting… I could just tell, y'know?"

Crowley just stared.

Straight at you.

Through you.

Stood still as a statue, those hazel eyes intent, focused.

"She's hurt all over," you added after a moment of silence. "She showed me bruises. There's a lot. He beat her real bad."

Your voice cracked at the last word. Tears welled up in your eyes, prickled at them like needles. Your heart clenched with each beat, a sharp, piercing ache shooting through it. As if thousands of blades had ripped into it, tore through it, bit and ravaged at the flesh.

Crowley remained still. His face, always so expressive, was blank, all emotion gone as if it had never been there. His hands were limp at his sides; they shook, slightly so, then balled into fists so tight his knuckles turned white as chalk.

Was he mad at you for telling him?

Was he mad at Rowena for keeping it a secret?

Or, the thought suddenly popped in, was he mad at himself for not seeing it? For being oblivious to his sister's pain; for taunting her; for poking fun at her injuries, making light of them?

You'd only seen him mad — truly mad — once, when Arthur Ketch had called Rowena a whore — a big no for only Crowley got to call her that. Crowley, with a smirk on his face, had calmly walked over to him and punched him in the mouth. It had earned him a week of detention, but, as he'd said, it was worth it.

She was his sister, and, as such, only he had the right to call her horrid names.

Would he do the same to Lucifer? Would he walk over and punch him — a few times, for good measure? Or would he do something worse?

You couldn't tell for, aside from his clenched fists, he was a blank canvas.

And, despite the absolute loathing you felt for Lucifer, you were scared.

Crowley had gotten a week of detention for hitting Ketch. If he were to attack Lucifer, who knew what the consequences would be?

Lucifer was the Principal's kid.

Laying a hand on him might as well get Crowley expelled.

The only reason you'd gotten away with hitting him was that you'd had witnesses to him grabbing your ass and you'd shouted the phrase "sexual harassment" in the Principal's face enough times for it to sink in that punishing you would be very, very bad for him and the entire school.

Attacking him unprovoked would bode terribly for Crowley.

"She's my friend," you said. "I know you don't like us hanging out, but I care about her and I wanna help her. I just don't know how. She won't go to the police, and I don't think teachers can do much to the Principal's kid. So I figured you might be able to help. Reason with her. Talk to your mom. Do something. _Please."_

Almost robotically, Crowley laid a hand on your shoulder. You flinched, startled.

"I'll take care of it," he said. His voice was cold, detached. As empty as the look on his face.

A surge of relief washed over you. "Thank you."

"Thank you for telling me the truth."

Guilt still ate at you for that, but you didn't regret it. If given a choice, you would do it again. You would do anything to help Rowena.

"What are you gonna do?" you asked.

"Something," was Crowley's simple response.

Before you could say anything else, the bell rang, and he got lost in the crowd, on his way to class.

 _Please, don't do anything stupid,_ you thought to yourself.

Despite that, though, a part of you hoped he would wipe the floor with Lucifer.

Just as the bastard deserved.

* * *

You were, as always, looking forward to lunch, but then, mere moments after the bell signaled the end of class, the commotion started and all your excitement was thrown to the wind.

Cold chills slid down your spine as you hurried toward the crowd gathered in the main hall. An inkling of what this was about crept over you; a premonition of sorts, grim, unpleasant, that you hoped with all you had was just your overactive imagination.

It was just a normal high school fight. A scuffle between friends that got out of hand and had accidentally attracted a crowd.

People were cheering and whistling like enthusiastic soccer fans at a particularly intense game. Everyone, from baby-faced Freshmen to towering Seniors, was gathered around the pair of students engaged in a fight. Grunts and yelps were heard, dull sounds that were unmistakably punches. The crowd ate it up like candy, hungry for action, for drama only high school could provide.

What was more entertaining than two teenagers going at it like wild beasts, trying to tear each other apart over something they would laugh at in a few short years?

High school really was no different from a jungle.

You pushed your way through the crowd, hoping to high heavens that you were wrong.

Kids fought.

It was what they did.

Just because you told Crowley about Lucifer didn't mean he—

The thought ended as abruptly as it had formed as your eyes finally landed on the fighting figures and adrenaline, hot, exhilarating, shot through your veins as if you were about to join in on the action.

You weren't.

You wouldn't.

Your body froze in place as if turned to stone, a rattled, mortified statue.

Crowley was pounding on Lucifer. Kicking. Smacking. Punching. He beat on him mercilessly, his bloodied fists landing blow after blow to Lucifer's face.

Lucifer tried to shove him off, tried to hit back, but every effort of his was futile. Crowley deflected his attempts with ease and kept on his assault. His face was contorted with anger, with rage that ran so deep your blood froze in your veins. The earlier blankness was gone; he was mad, and he wanted everyone to know.

He wanted Lucifer to know.

_Oh, god._

What have you done?

You knew Crowley could be protective of his sister, but it never occurred to you that he would attack Lucifer like this. In front of so many witnesses.

But then, what did you think was going to happen?

That little worm had harmed his sister. Had beaten her senselessly, without a shred of mercy. Had left her body a mess of bruises that hurt with every little movement.

Crowley wanted him to pay.

As did you.

But at what price?

Lucifer wasn't the one who was going to get in trouble. With his dad as the Principal, and with Crowley's track record, there was no way Crowley could plead self-defense. And even if he did, you had no doubt Principal Shurley would happily enforce the zero tolerance rule, even if it meant having to punish his own son.

Once again, Lucifer would get off with a slap on the wrist. Free to menace, to intimidate, to beat on people in no time.

Crowley wasn't blessed with an influential parent to bail him out of trouble. His mother could only do so much. And his sister…

Would Rowena even collaborate his story? Would she give up her boyfriend to save her brother?

Any other time you would have said yes, but after everything that had happened, you weren't certain.

She wanted to get back with Lucifer. Even after everything he'd done to her, she planned to run right back into his arms as if nothing had ever happened.Whatever it was he had over her, it was enough for her to risk her safety, her wellbeing to be with him.

Would she be willing to risk her brother?

Was Lucifer more important than her own flesh and blood?

"FERGUS!" came a sudden shout.

The crowd parted, cheers and whispers falling silent as Rowena, with Olivette in tow, rushed forward as if her heels were on fire. Her eyes were wide as she took in the scene before her; her boyfriend bloodied, lying limp on the floor; her brother on top of him throwing punches like a madman.

"WHAT IN BLOODY HELL ARE YOU DOING?!"

A few whistles sounded, joyful, anticipating drama that was about to come.

"Teaching your bastard boyfriend a lesson!" Crowley said, landing another punch to Lucifer's already messed up face.

"Stop this nonsense right now!" Rowena ordered without taking a beat.

Another punch. "I haven't even started yet!"

"Fergus!"

He ignored her, eyes glued to Lucifer, intent, furious. "I should bloody kill you!" He punched him again, then kicked him in the ribs with the point of his leather shoe.

Lucifer grunted. His hands instinctively clasped over the aching spot and he curled up like a baby on the floor.

"Stop!" Rowena screamed.

Crowley swung again, but before his fist could hit its target, Rowena grabbed onto it and pulled him back.

"I said stop!"

He shook her off, whipping back to glare at her.

"What is the matter with you?" she demanded.

"What is the matter with _you?"_ Crowley countered. "Why are you defending this wanker after what he's done to you?"

Rowena swallowed, hard, taken aback by his words. Then, in a voice she struggled to keep steady, she said, "He hasn't done anything."

"Are you stupid? Has his smacking you around dumbed you down? Take a look at yourself, woman!" Crowley looked at her face, at her barely covered bruise. "How many more of these do you have? I was told there's plenty."

Rowena flinched as if struck. Instinctively, she pulled her turtleneck further up her neck and crossed her arms over her chest as if to protect herself. Her eyes found yours, face contorting with anger. "You told him?"

Guilt bit at you like acid. "I had to."

"No, you bloody didn't!" she screamed. "You should have minded your business!"

"This is my business!" you argued. "I'm your friend, and I'm not gonna stand there and let that bastard abuse you."

"He didn't—"

You held up a hand. "Don't! Just don't!" In a softer tone, you said, "He's hurting you Rowena. It's wrong."

"It's my life!" Rowena said. "You had no right to get involved."

Maybe so.

But, no matter the consequences, you were glad you did.

"Well, I did," you said with a shrug. Not regretting a thing.

"You're crazy if you think Lucifer would ever lay a hand on her," Olivette said.

You snorted. "Figures you would defend him."

She shot you a murderous look. "And what is that supposed to mean?"

"You know damn well!" you snapped.

Before either of you could say another thing, Crowley spoke up. "This bastard doesn't give a damn about you, Rowena."

She looked at him with hurt in her eyes. "And you do?"

"You're my bloody family!" He sucked in a breath. Willed himself to calm down. "Is living out your mean cheerleader fantasies worth putting up with beatings?"

"You don't know what you're talking about!"

"Really?" He raised a questioning eyebrow. "This hasn't got anything to do with Scotland?"

She clenched her jaw.

Crowley huffed bitterly. "Thought so. You deserve better. This lying, cheating wanker is beneath you. Where's your self-respect?"

Olivette laughed. "You're not buying this shit, are you?"

"Shut up, Olivette!" you said. Now was not the time for her quips.

"Why? So you losers can make up lies about Lucifer?" She turned to Crowley. "It's not enough that you beat him up. Now you wanna ruin his reputation, as well."

"He does a bloody great job at that himself," Crowley told her.

"Oh, please! You're just jealous."

"Definitely. My knickers are shaking from so much jealousy."

"You're hilarious," Olivette said sarcastically. "I wonder if his dad — you know, _the Principal —_ will share your sense of humor."

"I don't know. Dear ol' Chuck seems like quite a comedian," Crowley quipped.

"Will he find it funny that his son hits his girlfriend?" you said.

"He'll definitely laugh at the slander charges he'll file if you two keep this bullshit up."

You rolled your eyes. "Of course you'd say that, considering."

"Considering what?" she demanded. "If you've got something to say, say it to my face, bitch!"

"You know what? I think I will!"

It was time.

No more secrets.

No more holding back.

"Rowena." You turned to her. Gave her the pleading puppy eyes. "Crowley wasn't lying to you when he said Lucifer was cheating."

Rowena swallowed. "I know." Regret flickered over her face as she quickly glanced at Crowley. Guilty. Apologetic. "He told me he was with other girls."

The ecstatic crowd gasped, eating up the drama, the tension, the new gossip that would spread around with lightning speed.

"Did he tell you any names?" you asked.

She shook her head.

You sighed.

Okay.

_Here we go._

Gathering up your courage, you said, "I saw him with Olivette."

Rowena's eyes widened with shock, with surprise so raw, so genuine it was heartbreaking. "What?"

"This is bullshit!" Olivette instantly exclaimed. Rowena looked at her with murder in her eyes, and she said, "She's lying!"

"I'm not lying!" you said. "I saw them. Well, heard them. Remember when you were sick a few weeks ago? They were in the bathroom, talking shit about you. I heard them kissing."

"Who knows what you heard?"

"I know!" you snapped.

"Is it true?" Rowena demanded.

Olivette raised an eyebrow. Surprised. Defensive "Are you seriously asking me that?"

"Yes, I am," Rowena said firmly. Her voice was cold, detached. Tranquil fury on the verge of explosion. "Are you fucking my boyfriend?"

"Rowena—" Lucifer finally spoke, struggling to raise himself up on his elbows.

"You be quiet!" she snapped.

"What, you don't believe me? You're taking the loser's word over mine?" Olivette asked.

"I'm her friend," you said. "I'd never lie to her."

"Honey, you're nothing but grime under her shoes," she said condescendingly.

"No, Olivette," Rowena said. "I'm starting to think that is what _you_ are."

"Are you serious?"

"Do I look like I'm joking?"

"Well, it's hard to tell. After all, most of the time you _do_ look like a joke."

And there it went.

Olivette's true colors were out.

"I suppose it takes one to know one," Rowena retorted.

Olivette chuckled bitterly. "You know what? I'm done playing. Yes, I fucked your boyfriend." She stepped forward, got in Rowena's face. "I've been fucking him ever since you two got together. He's not my particular type, but when he became yours, he got so much sweeter. You know what they say about forbidden fruit. _It's the best."_

Rowena set her jaw. Clenched her teeth tight. Narrowed her eyes into slits, angry, dangerous ones, a wild, heavy storm brewing inside them.

You thought she was going to curse her out, but, instead, she shoved her away, turned on her heel, and ran. Ran as fast as her wounded body would let her, as far as it would carry her. Away from the whistling crowd and the bitter betrayal.

Every nerve in you screamed for you to follow her, but you remained in place. She needed to be alone for a bit. Needed to cool her head, blow off some steam. Your presence would only further upset her.

You'd done enough of that for one day.

Crowley stared after his sister. Then his eyes fell on the smirking Lucifer and he landed one final punch, knocking him back down with a grunt.

"Stay away from my sister!" he said, the threat clear in his voice. He turned to Olivette and, raising a forefinger in warning, said, "You, too."

She raised an eyebrow, skeptical. "You gonna beat me up, too?"

"If I have to."

"You'd hit a girl? My, are you a gentleman."

"Darling, you're not a girl." He stared her down, smirked right in her face. "You're a backstabbing cunt."

"What is going on here?" one of the teachers demanded, pushing his way through the crowd.

Great.

Here came trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited by miss-moon-guardian.


	22. All Roads Lead to Scotland

The last day of school, which was usually easy going and lax, had, for lack of a better world, been a mess.

The fight — or rather what was left of it — was officially ended by intruding teachers. The crowd dispersed, students sent on their merry ways. The parties involved were dragged to the Principal's office, each by a separate teacher to ensure the fight wouldn't continue, and their parents were promptly called.

You hadn't seen Crowley for the rest of the day.

Olivette and her posse had started the rumor mill right away. Why wait for the new semester when they could start their work while their memory — well, Olivette's memory for she was the only one of them who was actually there for the fight. Or rather, for its conclusion — was still fresh?

They'd tried to convince the student body that Crowley had attacked Lucifer because he was jealous of his popularity, and had tried to spice it up by adding bits and pieces about his unhealthy, unbrotherly feelings for Rowena, who, the poor dear, was torn between her own loser brother and her popular boyfriend.

No one bought it.

Not a single person.

Not even the usual gossip whores who ate up all the shit they heard regardless of its validity.

Everyone had witnessed the fight and its sequel starring you, Crowley, Rowena, and Olivette, with guest appearances from Lucifer.

They knew Lucifer was abusing Rowena.

They knew Crowley had beaten the shit out of him as payback.

They knew Lucifer and Olivette were screwing around behind Rowena's back, and that you were the one who'd outed them to the entire school.

They all knew, and they are it up like candy, hungry for more, more, more.

You hoped the impending holidays would calm everything down, let the dust settle. Allow for the new semester to be a new beginning.

Being one of the main characters in gossip stories wasn't how you'd imagined your Senior year of high school. Or any part of your life.

You weren't made for that kind of life.

Crowley had texted you later that day. He hadn't said much other than that he was okay and wasn't in as much trouble as he thought he would be. And that Lucifer had gotten his ass handed to him by, of all people, Crowley and Rowena's mother.

Crazy protectiveness seemed to run in the MacLeod family.

From what Crowley had told you, Rowena was okay. She wasn't talking much, but she was okay. Locked up in her room. Away from Lucifer.

For good, you hoped, _prayed_ to anyone — anything — that would listen.

She deserved better than him. Deserved love, kindness, gentleness. Everything someone the likes of Lucifer couldn't provide her for it wasn't in his nature.

He was an animal.

A predator.

He used, took advantage of, abused. Ruined and shattered. Destroyed everything he touched, everything he laid his eyes on, like a savage.

He didn't deserve a girl like Rowena.

Despite telling yourself that it was early, that she probably needed more time, you found yourself on the MacLeods' doorway two days after school had ended. You were freezing, the cold air biting at your skin, seeping into your bones. It was torture, but you didn't let it discourage you from seeing Rowena.

You needed to explain yourself. Needed to tell her why you'd betrayed her, why you'd stabbed her in the back. Needed her to understand the last thing you wanted was to hurt her, even though that was exactly what you'd ended up doing.

You were her friend.

You cared about her.

You _loved_ her.

Her ignoring your messages wasn't going to change that.

At the very least you wanted her to hear your side of the story.

If, after you explained yourself, she still wanted to pretend you didn't exist — if she wanted to cut you out of her life — you would respect her wish. It would hurt like hell, but you would respect it.

But first you hoped with all you had, from the bottom of your racing heart, that she would be willing to hear you out.

Ten minutes.

That was all you needed.

Afterwards, she could do what she wished, no matter how much it hurt you.

Her life, her choice.

Rowena opened after the second knock. Clad in pants and a glittery shirt, she left her bruises (and there were plenty; over her neck, down her arms, more no doubt concealed by the clothing) uncovered. No use hiding them now that the truth was out in the open in all its ugly, unpleasant glory.

"What are you doing here?"

Her tone was curt, stern, straight to the point. Making it clear she wasn't happy to see you, the sentiment confirmed by the narrowing of her eyes.

You swallowed back the hurt, clearing your throat before uttering in your weakest, smallest voice, "I wanna talk."

You understood her anger, understood her disappointment at her friend telling her brother about something she'd shared with you in confidence, but it still stung as if she'd slapped you in the face.

A slap would have surely hurt less.

"Please," you added, noting her raised eyebrow.

Rowena looked you over. Observed you from head to toe like a microscope, taking in every detail, every little bit of you. Then she sighed and stepped aside.

"Thank you," you said, pulling on a smile. Small, tight, but warm enough.

If she noticed it, she didn't acknowledge it. Her face remained cold as the air outside.

Ouch.

You definitely would have preferred to be hit than deal this kind of treatment. At least then the pain would be real, tangible.

This way it just hurt.

Everywhere.

Nowhere.

You supposed you deserved that. Rowena could hold a mean grudge. You knew that when you'd decided to reveal her secret.

It was worth it.

You stood by that sentiment.

Still…

It fucking hurt!

You hung your coat and followed her up. Gavin was standing at the top of the stairs, grinning happily. A little bundle of joy, innocent to the darkness of this world.

"Hi, Y/N!" he greeted.

"Hi, Gavin," you said, flashing him a bright smile. "How you doing today?"

"Okay," he said in that pretend mature voice children put on in attempts to sound older. Silly, but adorable. "Rowena gave me sweeties and she said not to tell mummy!"

"My, what a great sister you have!"

"She's the best!"

She was.

She really, truly was.

Rowena smiled at the compliments. A bit of color splashed her cheeks; not much, but enough to flush them a warm, healthy pink. "Gavin, love, why don't you go back to your room and eat some more sweeties? Y/N and I need some grown-up time."

"Are you going to study?"

"Aye. You know how important that is."

Gavin nodded. Rowena led him to his room while you got settled on the bed in hers. She was so adorable with Gavin. So sweet. It was hard to believe it was the same girl who shouted atrocities at Crowley and joined in on bullying.

Would she still do that?

Would she and Crowley still argue like rabid dogs?

Would her friends invite her to take part in bullying — or would she be their target instead of consort this time?

"So," Rowena said, shaking you from your thoughts. She closed the door behind you and crossed her arms over her chest. "Talk."

You sucked in a breath for courage. "I'm sorry for telling Crowley."

She quirked up an eyebrow, skeptical. "Are you?" Her tone was sharp as a knife, cutting straight through your heart.

"I am."

 _Well,_ you thought, _kinda._

She scoffed. "Right."

You clenched your jaw. "I _am_ sorry."

You were.

You truly, genuinely — from the bottom of your aching heart — were.

But you also weren't.

Not completely.

Rowena, clever as she was, well acquainted with you after months of getting to know you in this very room, could sense it. Could smell it all over you like badly concealed perfume.

"I know you're mad — you have every right to be — but I never wanted to hurt you," you went on to explain, to elaborate as best as you could for the real reason — the one that made your heart ache with every beat, that tore at your soul like the sharpest knives — could never leave your mouth. She couldn't know that you loved her. That every second from the time you'd found out about what Lucifer had done had been agony, had been fear that burrowed itself deep underneath your skin and wouldn't leave until you knew she was safe. "You have to believe that."

Rowena's eyes met yours for a brief moment before drifting sideways. You made sure to put as much emotion as you could into them, to make it clear that, despite there being more to the story, your reasons were genuine.

"Why should I?"

The coldness in her voice sent a chill down your spine.

"Because I'm your friend."

"A friend wouldn't betray me to my brother."

The nonchalance, however fake — for it was fake, you could tell from a mile away — stung.

"I didn't betray you," you said.

Rowena snorted. Any other time it would have been cute, but now it was just cruel. Unnecessary.

You weren't the villain here.

You weren't the one who'd badmouthed her and had slept with her boyfriend, or the one who'd beaten the hell out of her.

All you'd done was look out for her.

As a friend.

As a…

As something you could only dream of, that could never come to be reality.

"Jesus, Rowena! I just wanted to help you, and you're acting like I killed your mother!"

The words rushed out of you before you could try to stop them, a wild, uneasy storm twisting and turning inside of you, begging to be let out, to roam free. To lash out at her for being so stubborn and refusing to see what was right in front of her.

"I never asked for your help!" Rowena retorted.

A fair point.

Still…

"What was I supposed to do? Stand aside with my arms crossed until her put you in a bodybag?"

She widened her eyes a tad, taken aback. "I can take care of myself."

"I can see that." You got to your feet. Stood to face her. "You know what? I'm not sorry. There. I said it. I'm not sorry I saved your ass because _somebody had to!"_

If she were affected by your admission, she hid it well. "You couldn't resist the chance to play the hero."

"It's not like that and you know it." You looked her in the eyes. Pierced her with your gaze, intense, pleading. "What if it was me? Wouldn't you wanna help me?"

A flicker of something — understanding? — flashed over her face. It was gone in a split second, features smoothed back to marble coldness. "That's different."

"How is it different?" you asked.

Turning her back to you, she replied, "It just is."

"How? Why?"

Seconds passed, bled into moments. Silence settled over the two of you for almost a minute, loud, deafening. Making it hard to breathe.

You could ask the question a million times — Rowena wouldn't answer. Stubborn as she was, she would never answer.

For the truth was, there was no difference. If roles were reversed, she would have reached out to your loved ones in attempts to save you. She wouldn't have left you to your own devices, especially if you were in danger that could easily turn mortal.

Why couldn't she accept help?

Why couldn't she admit she needed it, needed you, needed Crowley?

Why did she have to be so damn stubborn?

Unless it was about more than just pride. Unless she—

No

It couldn't be.

That wasn't Rowena.

Was it?

The girl you knew knew her worth. Had the world under her feet and let no one and nothing stop her from getting what she wanted.

But there was more to that girl, wasn't it? There was the kindness you'd gotten to know, a clear contrast to the meanness. The sweetness. The patience. And that was just the part of her that lived here in this room, all alone, far away from the world where she had to be cruel to survive.

Which part had she left in Scotland?

What were you missing in the puzzle that was Rowena Macleod?

"There's nothing wrong with accepting help, Rowena," you said. "It doesn't make you weak."

More silence.

Then, in a tight, strained voice, "I don't need your pity."

That was what she thought? That you pitied her?

"It's not pity," you said in a tone you hoped came across clear. "I was just being your friend."

"Right." Disbelief. Pure, unadulterated skepticism.

It hurt. You thought she knew you better than that. "I _am_ your friend, Rowena. I'm sorry that I hurt you, I really am, but if I had to do it again, I would." You set your jaw. Clenched your fists to subdue the anger that flashed through you, hot as fire. "I'd rather you hate me than keep getting hurt."

Rowena whipped around to face you, her eyes like daggers stabbing into yours. "Och, save the drama for the stage!"

"You think I'm lying?" Your voice trembled, betrayed the hurt that ripped at you like a thousand knives. "I'm not! I—"

_I love you._

The words froze in your throat. Stopped in their tracks as if someone — something — had grabbed your neck and squeezed, hard, bruising.

You couldn't tell her.

She couldn't know.

Not now.

Not ever.

Breathing in deeply, you asked, "Why is it so hard for you to accept that people care about you?"

"Because they don't!" Rowena snapped, eyes glistening with tears she tried her hardest to hold back. "Nobody cares! Caring is weakness. _Love_ is weakness."

What?

"You don't believe that," you said, more to yourself than her. A plea, weak, lowly, that you'd heard wrong. That it was a misunderstanding.

She gave a chuckle, a bitter one. "Darling, if you got to know the real world, you would believe it, too."

"What does that mean?"

"It means…" She sucked in a breath, willed herself to calm. "It means people are arseholes. They say they care, but they're lying."

"I'm not lying."

You would never lie to her.

Not about something this important.

She narrowed her eyes. Looked deep into your hurt ones. "You're lying to _yourself."_

"Is that what you want?" you challenged. "Would it be easier for you if I was liar? Are you that stubborn?"

"Don't you patronize me, lass!"

"Hit a nerve, have I?" Features softening, you asked, "Who did this to you?"

That took her off guard. "What?"

"Who made you distrust people so much? Someone had to."

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"Who was it?" you insisted. "An old friend? Boyfriend? Who was it that made you so cold?"

"You don't know anything about me!" Rowena shouted, defensive.

You were on the right track, then.

"I know you're not a bitch. You pretend, but you're not," you told her. "I know you're a good friend. A good tutor. That you like shitty old movies."

That prompted her to chuckle. "My movies are works or art," she said, head raised high.

"If you say so." You let out a chuckle or your own, then continued, "You like weird glittery clothes and matching makeup. Somehow you make it look—" _sexy_ "—awesome."

She smiled. "Well, I _am_ quite awesome."

"You totally are." _And I love you for it._ Oh, how you wished she could know! "What happened to you?"

Rowena's smile withered. She glanced to her feet, avoiding your eyes.

"It's okay," you said softly. "You can tell me."

Tears spilled down her face, dripping onto her bare toes. Step by careful step, she lowered herself on the bed.

"You're right — there's lots of things I don't know about you," you said, sitting down next to her. She looked at you and you wanted to weep for there was so much sadness in her eyes, so much pain that it hurt — it physically hurt — to sit there, unable to do anything to make it go away. Unable to help her when she clearly needed it. "But I'd like to know. I'd like to know everything about you."

"Why?" she asked, suspicion — cautiousness — creeping into her tone.

"Because I'm your friend," you said for the umpteenth time, and were willing to say it as many times more. You were willing to shout it from the rooftops like a maniac — anything for her to get it in her thick head that what you felt for her was genuine. If she only knew how much. "I want to understand you."

Her cheeks flushed at your admission. Carefully, tentatively, she asked, "What if you don't like what you hear?"

"I liked you when I still thought you were a bitch," you reminded her, prompting a small chuckle. "I'm sure whatever it is I don't know won't change my opinion of you."

Nothing she could possibly say would change what you thought of her. It wouldn't change your feelings, wouldn't change the shift in the beats of your heart whenever you came near her. Wouldn't change the tingles that shot through you every time your hands touched, or the rush that came over you whenever she gave you that big, encouraging smile and accompanied it with a compliment.

Whatever had happened — whatever had been done to her — could, if anything, only make you love her more.

Rowena fell into silence for a moment. When she spoke up, her voice was cold, distant. As if someone else were telling the story and she was nothing but an observer, an overly invested listener. "It happened back in Scotland."

You gave a small nod. "Crowley told me you were bullied."

Well, that it was a possibility. He'd never outright confirmed it, but you could tell he'd had his suspicions.

She laughed bitterly. "He doesn't know the half of it."

You'd figured as much.

"I wasn't very popular," she started her story. "I wasn't popular at all. People either pretended I didn't exist or mocked me." A flicker of pain flashed across her face for a split second; an old, never healed wound reopening, sprinkled with salt, bleeding profusely. "They thought I was pretentious because I did ballet."

"That's ridiculous," you said.

Ballet — any kind of dance, really — was art. Beauty and grace and power all in one.

Children could be cruel little bastards.

"To them it made perfect sense," Rowena said sourly. "I used to love to dance. But, as I got older, I started resenting it because it put a target on my back."

 _That's wrong,_ you thought, heart clenching with sympathy. _Very, very wrong._

They had no right to do that to her.

"It wasn't just the ballet," she elaborated, taking a short pause to breathe. "They thought my nose was funny."

You thought it was beautiful; crooked and a tad hooked, unique in the masses. Peculiar. One of a kind. A lovely, perfect little imperfection.

"My family was poor. We couldn't afford the best clothes. Sometimes my mum made clothes for me. They were good clothes — they weren't rags — but I still stood out."

"I think it's awesome that your mom made you stuff," you said.

"She's very skilled," she admitted with a tinge of pride. "Compared to other girls, I was quite plain. Boys weren't interested in me."

You wanted to tell her it wasn't true, that, if there was disinterest, it was their issue rather than hers, but allowed her to continue.

"They still touched me. My arse. My boobs. Everywhere. To 'give me a taste because I would never get the real thing.' The girls thought it was funny. They spread rumors. I became the school's slut before I even had my first kiss."

She wrapped her shaky arms around her chest protectively, the memories, fresh again, eating at her like acid. Devouring her alive one little bit at a time.

You wanted to hug her. God, you wanted to hug her. Wanted to wrap your arms around her, hold her tight, and never let go. Wanted to tell her it was okay, that what had happened was their shame, not hers.

She was just a girl born into misfortune, too shy, too clumsy to take on such a big world.

Those people took advantage of that.

If anyone should feel bad, it was them.

"By the time I was in eighth grade, I was sick of everything," Rowena said. "I couldn't take the it anymore. All I wanted was to be liked. I thought, if I could get them to like me, maybe things wouldn't be that bad."

Her jaw tightened. A lump bloomed in her throat; she swallowed it, gulped down hard.

"There were these three siblings. The Loughlins; Catriona, Boyd, and Gideon. Boyd and Gideon always groped me with Catriona's blessing. Everyone gave me a hard time, but those three were the worst. They were popular. Their family was mad rich. They could do whatever they wanted without consequences; no one dared cross them. One time we were alone in a classroom and…"

Her breath hitched. Tears spilled from her eyes like a downpour. A sob threatened to rip free; she swallowed it, willed it back.

"It's okay," you said, laying a hand on her shoulder. A soft, comforting gesture. "It's okay."

She relaxed under your touch. "They were bothering me again and I… offered myself to them." More tears. "I-I just wanted them to leave me alone. I thought if they slept with me, they'd see I'm not that bad." A sour chuckle. "They laughed. Boyd was considering it, but Catriona — she told him it would be cleaner with pigs."

Anger burned at you, red hot, dangerous. You wanted to find those three, grab their necks, and squeeze until they released their very last breath. Wanted to punch them, kick them, _hurt_ them the way they'd hurt Rowena.

They had no right.

Everything they'd done to her, every rumor, every taunt, every unwanted touch — they had no right.

"They told the entire school. Now I wasn't just a slut — I was a prostitute. Everyone started offering me money. Some of the richer kids threw it at me. It was unbearable. And then… then I met Gilroy."

A smile blossomed on her mouth, a sad one, one of longing, of memories that, while painful, hid bits of good in them.

"He was rich. Popular. And he was interested in me. The first boy ever to find me attractive."

First boy with taste, most likely.

"He was Catriona's boyfriend, but that didn't matter to me," she admitted. "I was mad at her and I thought of it as revenge. He was so charming. He promised to leave her 'when the time was right,' and, like a fool, I believed him."

Uh oh.

You didn't like where this was going.

"We'd had three wonderful months together. I loved him with everything I had, and he said he loved me. Then, upon our fourth month, I noticed I was late."

"What?" you uttered, surprised.

"I bought a test. It was positive."

"You were pregnant?"

"Aye," Rowena said, hands instinctively sliding down to her stomach. "I was terrified. I was only fourteen; I was too young to be a mother. But, I thought, if Gilroy wanted the child, we could work it out somehow. I wasn't the first teenager to fall pregnant. It would be difficult, but it wasn't impossible. We loved each other. That was all we needed, right?"

The smile faded from her face, light dying from her eyes in place of glum darkness.

"He didn't want the child. He didn't want me, either, anymore. He thought I'd done it on purpose, to trick him into giving me money. I tried to reason with him, but he wouldn't listen. He said, if I told anyone, he would deny it and no one would believe me. And he was right. Who would believe the school whore that she was impregnated by a popular rich boy who already had a girlfriend?"

You squeezed her shoulder. "I'm sorry."

She shook her head. "It's fine. It's in the past now."

Years may have passed, but she was still hurt. She was still suffering. What that boy had done would stay with her for the rest of her life.

"That same day I went to the clinic," she said. "Got it taken care of as soon as possible."

"Did you tell anyone?"

"No. Aside from him, and now you, no one knows I've ever been pregnant."

She'd had an abortion at fourteen.

Alone.

Without a friend to hold her hand.

Without family to support her.

Your heart ached for her.

No wonder she'd turned so mean.

Nobody wanted to be around her.

Those who did took advantage of her.

Love _had_ made her week. It had fooled her, took everything from her. Turned her life inside out.

"I was terrified I'd need my mum to sign papers, but law is different there," Rowena said. "Nobody had to know unless I wanted them to."

"Thank you for trusting me with it."

She looked at you, eyes big and so, so green. Sad and beautiful all at once. "You're my friend."

"I am."

If only you could be more.

But, after what you'd heard, after what had happened with Lucifer, you knew she needed time.

It was too soon.

Maybe it always would be.

And you were okay with that.

You could love her from a distance and be her friend for just because the feelings were there didn't mean you had to act on them.

Rowena came first.

Her wellbeing came before your wishes.

"I won't tell anymore," you assured her. "I promise."

"I know." She gulped. "Now do you understand why I couldn't leave Lucifer?"

"You don't need him, Rowena," you told her.

"I do," she said. "Without him and Olivette, I'm nothing. Like I was back in Scotland."

"That's not true." She raised an eyebrow. You sighed. "You weren't popular — so what? They bullied you, and that's on them. You didn't do anything wrong."

"That doesn't matter"

"It does. They took advantage of you."

"And I took advantage of Lucifer and Olivette." She spat their names as if they were dirty, foul.

"Doesn't mean they get to treat you like shit. Those assholes in Scotland had no right, and neither do these two."

Rowena closed her eyes, then, upon opening them, breathed deeply in and out. "What else can I do?"

"Tell them to fuck off," you said, loud and clear. "You're not alone anymore. You have me, and Sam, and Crowley. We're not gonna let them hurt you."

She flinched at that. Her eyes sparkled, brightened up with a new light that lit up within them. A reflection of her soul, healing, hopeful.

"This isn't Scotland, Rowena," you added, allowing your mouth to curl up into a smile. "You have friends here."

"You really mean that," she said in disbelief. You nodded, and she gave a small, self-deprecating chuckle. "Fool."

"I'm willing to take the risk."

You trusted her that much.

She wasn't perfect, far from it, but she was loyal. A good friend. A good person behind the mask she'd put on to protect herself from the evils of the world.

There was potential in her. Opportunities that would do her good, change her life for the better.

All she had to do was take them.

Her face suddenly darkened. "They will turn the school against me."

"They can try," you said, confident. Lucifer and Olivette had influence, but not to that extent. "They're not that powerful."

"They'll make my life hell."

"Again, they can try." Your hand slid down her arm in a soft, gentle caress before taking hold of hers. You squeezed her fingers, wrapped yours tightly against them. Tightened them into a knot, unbreakable, comforting. A wordless promise that you were here, that you wouldn't let them or anyone else lay a finger on her ever again. "I won't let anything happen to you."

She startled, surprised. Looked at you as if you'd just admitted you were in love with her. "You won't?"

"Nope. Think of me as your security guard."

She glanced you over and, teasingly, said, "You, a security guard?"

"I'm tougher than I look," you said in mock defense.

She quirked up an eyebrow. You shrugged, nonchalant.

"What if I don't need your… _services?"_ She purred the word, licked her lips as she uttered it.

Your insides turned to jelly, fire burning hot in your veins, lighting you up from the inside out. Boiling you alive.

That accent.

So thick.

So delicious.

Almost,dare you say it, enchanting.

_Damn._

"What if," she continued in that same playful tone, "I can take care if myself?"

"Doesn't hurt to have backup, does it?" you told her.

"I suppose," she conceded.

"Good girl."

She flashed a smile; a big, bright one, straight from the heart.

It was the most beautiful sight in the world.

"Don't worry," you said. "It'll be okay. _We'll_ be okay."

"If you say so."

You knew so.

The bullies back in Scotland had only gotten away with tormenting her because she was alone. She'd had no one to turn to. No one to wrap her in a hug and tell her how amazing she was. No one to have her back.

Here, she had friends. She had _you._

And you wouldn't let anything happen to her.

Never again.

If Lucifer, Olivette, and their little entourage thought they could bully her, they were wrong.

They may have gotten away with treating her like shit for over three years, but that ended now.

She wasn't their property.

Wasn't their little plaything.

Wasn't their doll to use and abuse as they saw fit.

She was a person.

The girl you loved.

And you would do everything in your power to protect her.

"I'm proud of you," you said.

Rowena frowned, taken aback. "Whatever for?"

"For telling me everything. For not putting up with Lucifer and Olivette's shit anymore. That must've taken a lot of guts."

Her cheeks flushed bright, ripe red.

You grinned.

Then, without thinking it through, you threw your arms around her and wrapped her in a hug.

Rowena froze. You could feel her heart pounding against your chest as you held her, could feel it speeding up, running full speed. Her body was warm against yours, skin soft, tender.

Home.

She felt like home.

How could anyone hurt such a delicate creature?

How could they bruise her?

How could they think it was okay?

Holding her, you wanted nothing but to protect her. To keep her like this forever, safe in your embrace. Far away from school cliques and hierarchies. Just… yours.

Only yours.

God, you loved her!

"You're so fucking awesome!" you said, when all you wanted to say was, _I fucking love you!_

"Aye," Rowena said, a tad coquettish. Teasing. "That I am, dear."

Her arms slipped around you, returning the hug. Reciprocating the tightness, the protection.

You melted into it. Gave yourself away to the sensation, to the feel of her against you. To the warmth that radiated off her as if she were the sun, your system's brightest star.

Your lifeline.

Your everything.

"Thank you for trusting me."

She offered no reply.

You held each other in silence, for what must have felt like hours. Just sat there and held each other as if your lives depended on it.

Maybe they did.

Maybe nothing else mattered except the two of you.

A girl could certainly dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited by miss-moon-guardian.
> 
> Huge thanks to hell-is-empty-the-devils-are-us for info on abortion in Scotland.


	23. The Debt of Gratitude

"How are you doing?" Sam asked.

It was exactly three days after Christmas and Rowena hated every moment of it. She loved a celebration, and she especially loved receiving gifts, but it was all too mushy for her tastes. Too emotional.

Why did major holidays have to be so bloody family-oriented? Why couldn't everyone just exchange gifts, get drunk, and get on with their lives without any feelings involved?

She was glad her extended family was in Scotland, a whole wide ocean away.

She could only take so much of her mother's holiday spirit.

The Winchesters were spending the holidays on the road. They traveled from one city to the other, from state to state, visiting various friends and acquaintances of their father's. John Winchester was the only blood relative Sam and Dean had left, so they made do.

They seemed to enjoy it.

Rowena couldn't, for the life of her, comprehend it. Traveling was one thing; she loved going from place to place, roaming new malls, dining at various exquisite restaurants.

But visiting people?

Ew.

"I'm good," she said with a smile. An honest one.

She may not have been in holiday mood, but she was glad to hear from Sam. It had been a while since they talked, really talked. She missed her friend.

She would have preferred to do it in person, but Skyping was the next best thing. Beggars couldn't be choosers.

"That's great," Sam said. "Y/N told me you guys talked."

Was that why he wanted to talk?

"We did."

She was glad for it. Happy. It was hard for her to open up, and a part of her had wondered if she'd made a mistake. But you were so kind, so patient, so bloody friendly that her worries vanished as if they'd never been there.

She shouldn't have doubted you. Shouldn't have doubted your intentions, your friendship.

Unlike the people back in Scotland; unlike Gilroy, and Lucifer, and Olivette, you were genuine.

You cared about her.

Your actions, however angry she'd initially been, showed it.

You were right about Lucifer and Olivette. She deserved better than them. As much as she wanted — craved — their power, their influence, it wasn't worth the hurt they'd inflicted her.

It would be difficult to navigate the school halls without them. Rowena knew they would spread rumors, that they would turn people against her, try to squish her as if she were nothing but a filthy pest. Her heart raced in fear every time she thought of what they would do. She could picture it clearly in her head, different scenarios with the same outcome — her shunned, the pariah, the school's slut once again. A traitor for she was certain that was all she was to them at this point.

Then she thought of you — of the light in your eyes, of the kindness in your smile — and her worries subsided.

You were right — she wasn't alone anymore.

She had her brother.

She had Sam.

She had you.

What more did she need?

The entire school had heard the argument. They'd heard what had happened, had witnessed it firsthand.

Olivette couldn't erase that. Lucifer couldn't charm his way out of it.

Their friends would, no doubt, have their back, believe their lies, but the rest of the school?

They knew better.

"So you're good now?" Sam inquired.

"Aye," Rowena said.

"That's great. I'm happy for you guys."

He was a sweetheart.

What had she done to deserve such a wonderful friend?

Even when she was at her worst, he stood by her. Had always believed in her. Had, no doubt, had a hand in getting you to give her a chance.

How could he be so good to her after all she'd done?

"Um, Rowena, can I ask you something?" Sam asked, a tad awkward.

It was quite an endearing sight.

"Ask away."

"You and Y/N—are you… you know…" His cheeks flushed bright, ripe red. "Is there something going on?"

Rowena blushed a matching color. "What?" Did he know something she didn't? "No!"

"Oh," was his only response.

"Why would you ask that?" she demanded, growing flustered.

"I just thought…" He cleared his throat. Sucked in a breath. "You guys seem pretty close."

"We're friends!"

"I know. I just… Never mind."

"Has Y/N said something?"

"N-no. Why? Is there something to say?"

"No!"

She may have said that a tad too fast. With a bit too much ferocity.

If Sam picked up on it, he didn't show it. "Okay. That — um, that's great."

Aye.

Bloody great.

"She really cares about you."

Rowena's face brightened. "I know."

She cared about you, too.

So much that it hurt to be mad at you, to resent you.

Lucifer had hurt her. Abused her. Had played with her feelings, with her trust, with everything she had.

You, on the other hand, had never shown her anything but kindness.

You fought for her when she'd given up on herself. You knew you could lose her friendship, and you still wanted to protect her.

Rowena wanted to weep. You'd done so much for her, and how had she repaid you?

With coldness.

With indifference.

She was so caught up in her past that she never, for a moment, considered that you weren't like the people who had hurt her.

"I care about her, too," she admitted reluctantly, unsure if she should say it out loud for saying it made it real and she didn't know how to deal with that.

Sam smiled, encouraging, kind. "You should go for it."

"What?"

"You should go for it," he repeated. "If you… you know, if—"

"I don't!" she blurted out, cheeks burning. A denial a tad too swift to be believable.

What was it with him all of a sudden?

When had he started playing cupid?

"Okay," he said with a nod. "But if you ever start caring _caring,_ you should go for it."

"Right."

Och, she already _cared._

She cared so much.

Too much.

She — goodness, it hurt to admit, even to herself — _loved._

She wasn't sure how it happened, or why. It certainly wasn't planned.

She just… knew.

She felt it with everything she had; with her entire soul; with every beat of her heart.

You were so kind, so perfect, so _you._ She couldn't not love you.

But did you feel the same?

Did you see her as a friend, or was there more to it for you as well?

Were you ready to give her that kind of chance?

Was _she_ ready?

She'd only just ended a relationship. One that had destroyed her body and — she was certain — had almost destroyed her soul, left it in tethers, barely held together.

Was she ready to start another?

Was she ready to try again?

Could she trust anyone to get that close again?

Yes, she thought. She could.

You weren't just anyone, she reminded herself. You were her friend. She trusted you with her safety, with her wellbeing.

And she could trust you with her heart as well.

* * *

A call from Rowena was unexpected, but certainly not unwanted.

You were surprised to see her name flash on the screen, especially at ten PM sharp. Her usual _modus operandi_ was texting. If you dared be away from the phone when she needed you, you would find it spammed with dramatic messages a theater actress would be proud of.

Dramatics seemed to run in the family.

It was as endearing as it was annoying.

"This a booty call?" you joked as way of greeting.

"Och, you wish, lass," Rowena said, voice a rich velvet, hungry, teasing. Accent thick in every word.

_Damn._

She sure knew how to get you worked up.

"Yeah," you said, hoping your sarcasm was convincing enough, "your ass is all I wish for."

"It's an exquisite arse."

It definitely was.

As the saying went: like owner, like ass.

"Did you call me to talk about your ass?"

As much as you enjoyed the topic, you were getting a tad too flustered for your liking.

The girl had no right to have so much power over you.

"You're the one who brought it up, dear."

Fair point.

"My sincerest apologies."

"No need; it's a topic I'm quite well versed in."

"I'm sure you are."

Was she doing it on purpose?

Was she teasing like that — in that tone of voice, with that thick an accent — just to rile you up, to get you all hot and bothered?

Was she _flirting?_

Heat scorched at your cheeks, set them alight with what felt like a thousand degrees.

Maybe you were looking too much into it.

No — you definitely were.

Rowena had always been a shameless tease. There was no deeper meaning to it, no hidden agendas. No hints whatsoever that she looked at you as anything other than a friend.

You loved her. Wanted her with everything you had. You could never have her — you were well aware of that — and that only made you want her more.

We always wanted the most what we could never have.

After all, nothing tasted sweeter than forbidden fruit.

Rowena chuckled, a spicy, rich sound that made your heart race. You could picture her smirking; lips curled, eyes sparkling, mischief painted all over her face in bright neon color.

"Rowena," you said exasperatedly, more mad at yourself, at your body, for having such a reaction to her rather than at her.

"Fine, fine. All business, no play it is." It came off playful, mischievous. "As it goes, business is the reason I'm calling, actually."

"Really?"

"Mhm." A short pause. "Well, soft of."

"Is it about tutoring? 'Cause I'd totally like to sign up for more lessons."

As much as you hated math, you loved studying with Rowena.

You loved _being_ with Rowena. Loved being around her. Loved listening to her go on and on about numbers and formulas that, thanks to her endless patience, made slightly more sense than they did when Ms. Hanscum explained them in class.

"No, but that is good to know," she replied, amused. "Remember our little cinema date?"

How could you forget?

It was the first time you'd held her hand. The first time she'd let you touch her, comfort her. The first time you were out in public, among so many people, afraid of being recognized and at the same time wishing people you knew were allowed to know what you felt — even though, at the time, you didn't know — didn't want to know, didn't want to admit it — yourself.

That day would forever remain seared into your memory.

"Yeah."

She was still calling it a date, you realized. She still thought of it as such.

And, really, what was it if not a date?

You'd gone out to a public place — to the movies, of all places. You'd sat next to each other, watching — you with delight and her with distaste and a tinge of fear — people screaming and dying on screen. Teased each other. Tossed banter. Held hands.

If that wasn't a date, you didn't know what was.

"Then you also remember that I owe you one," Rowena said.

You did.

She'd agreed to go out with you on the condition that you accompanied her to the place of her choosing.

In short — another date.

You swallowed. "I do."

"Have you got any plans for New Year?"

"The usual." Remembering this was the first time the subject had come up, the first year the two of you spoke and had reason to bring it up, you elaborated, "A fun movie, some music. Just my computer and me."

It was sad, now that you thought about it. While your friends went out, had fun, got ridiculously drunk and enjoyed the night to the fullest, you were confined to your room.

Which you liked, but it didn't make it any less sad.

Maybe you really were a loser.

"How would you like to spend it with me?" Rowena proposed.

"What?" Your heart skipped a beat, adrenaline filling your veins like lava, burning bright hot. "For real?"

"Aye," she said, and you could picture her licking her lips, knowing she had you. A naughty little spider she'd lured in her fly.

"Don't you have plans?"

The outgoing, living-the-life Rowena MacLeod was bound to have some.

"The people I used to call friends turned out to be utter fannies. What do you think?"

"Right." You cleared your throat. "What did you have in mind?"

"The same thing as you. Movie, music, laptop. Only," she purred, "my room."

_Well, shit._

You almost dropped your phone, fingers momentarily going limp before squeezing the phone as if your life depended on it.

Movie.

Music.

The two of you alone together.

Almost exactly the same like your little movies date, only this time she was single, you were closer than ever, and your feelings for her were through the roof.

She couldn't reciprocate, could she?

She was a tease, but she'd just ended an abusive relationship and abandoned a friend who'd stabbed her in the back.

It was too soon to even think of starting anything, let alone trying to.

You were looking into it too much.

You wanted her, and it was only natural for you to wish that she wanted you as well.

But just because you wished for it didn't make it true.

Rowena was just playing around. Pushing limits. Wreaking havoc because that was what she did, what she thrived on.

She wanted to hang out with you because you were her friend; one of the only friends she'd had left in the world. Nothing more, nothing less.

"Oh, really?" you asked, clearly interested.

"Mmhm. Fergus will be out, getting drunk somewhere."

You could imagine the distaste on her face as she said it, the unfiltered disgust, and you had to chuckle at the visual.

"Mother will also be out. I convinced her to join her colleagues at the bar. The woman needs to live, aye?"

Clever girl.

"And Gavin will be asleep," she finished. "We will have the house to ourselves. Though I think my room is quite enough."

There she went again, the little tease.

If only she knew what she was doing to you.

Would it make her stop, or would it prompt her to keep going, to keep working you up?

"Doesn't sound half bad," you mused.

It sounded fucking amazing!

"Knew you'd think so."

"And how long would this little party of ours last?"

"All night, if you want. I love a good party."

All night?

So she wasn't asking you to just celebrate New Year — she was asking you to sleep over.

Your heart pounded against your chest almost painfully, racing as if you'd just run a marathon.

An entire night with Rowena.

Alone.

That was what dreams were made of.

"Should I bring my pjs?" you joked, trying to hide your nervousness.

"If you wish," she replied amusedly. "Though I don't think we will be doing much of sleeping."

_Just kill me, why don't you?_

"Seems like you've got it all planned out."

"I _am_ a professional, dear." Then, in a softer tone, she added, "Think of it as thanks for helping me out."

"You don't owe me anything, Rowena," you hurried to say. You helped her because she was your friend, because you loved her. Not because you expected anything in return. "I'm your friend. I—"

"I know," she cut you off. "I _do_ owe you a date, though, and I saw it as a chance to show my gratitude."

"You don't have to do it."

"I _want_ to," she assured you. "You know me. When have I ever passed on a good party?"

Fair point.

"Okay," you conceded. "If you're sure."

"One thousand percent."

Sounded good to you.

"When should I be there?"

"How about nine?"

"Sounds great!"

"Perfect!"

You smiled. "Should I bring snacks?"

"No need," Rowena said. "Just get your arse over here. I'll take care of everything else."

"It's a deal," you said, giggling.

The best night of your life, here you came!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited by miss-moon-guardian.


	24. Want, Take, Have

You showed up at the MacLeod residence at nine o'clock sharp. The cold of the night bit at every inch of your exposed skin. It seeped into your bones like poison, made the blood in your veins run frozen.

Luckily, Rowena was quick to let you in. She locked the door while you hung the coat. The house was warm like a summer afternoon; you melted in it, basked in the pleasantness, in the sweet, welcome comfort it provided.

It felt like home.

"God, it's cold," you commented, rubbing your trembling palms together.

"Like death," Rowena agreed.

It was then that you looked at her — really, truly looked at her; into her eyes; head to toe — and all thoughts about the killing cold vanished from your head as if they'd never existed.

She was clad in a gown, a blue one with sparkles that looked as if the night sky had wrapped itself around her lithe body. The fabric was thin, soft even from the looks of it. It hugged her every curve as if it were molded on her, a second, beautiful skin, the color of it a perfect contrast to her natural paleness.

Her hair was curled. Eyelids painted a blend of pink and blue that would've looked ridiculous on anyone else, but on Rowena it just fit. As if the colors, however dark in contrast to her skin, however conspicuous, were created solely for her. Her lips sparkled pink, a shade of innocence that, on her, was everything but.

She was beautiful.

Truly, genuinely beautiful.

The — dare you say — most beautiful girl you'd ever seen.

Not even her bruises, faded, healing nicely, concealed but still slightly visible, marred the perfection.

 _God,_ you thought. _Jesus fucking Christ!_

She was so damn beautiful!

"Looks like I'm underdressed," you said, struggling to keep your voice from breaking. Willing the gasp that threatened to break free to stay down, to not embarrass you.

She'd invited you over because she owed you. Because you were her friend and she wanted to show her gratitude, however much you insisted she didn't have to.

This was a friend date.

 _Just a friend date,_ you reminded yourself. Repeated it a few more times for it to sink in.

She was gorgeous and your body reacted to her in unpredictable ways, but she was still just your friend.

A friend who'd, up until a few days ago, been in an abusive relationship. Who'd been beaten so badly she could barely walk and still bore the marks as reminders.

The last thing she needed was you drooling over her like a hormone-ridden fangirl at a boy band concert.

You knew better than that.

She _deserved_ better than that.

"Nonsense," Rowena chided. She looked you over, took in your jeans and shirt that, while far from fancy, were clean and neat. The nicest ones you had. "You look fabulous." You blushed. "Besides, this is _our_ wee party. Just the two of us."

She had a point.

"You're in an awfully good mood."

"How could I not be? It's my first party with a real friend." A flicker of something sad passed her face for a moment, quickly smoothed out by a bright, happy smile. Honest to the bone. "We are going to have so much fun!"

You knew you would.

Hell, even sitting in silence with a math textbook in your lap would be a good time as long as she was there.

Nothing could possibly be boring with Rowena around.

She led you to her room, and this time you did gasp, embarrassingly loud. Candles covered every corner, every surface, every naked piece of furniture. Even with the lights out, the room was lit up as if sun itself were shining through it, filling it up with its warm light.

"Jesus," you said, unable to hide your surprise. "You really are making this a date."

Rowena shrugged, feigning innocence. "I thought, why not go all the way?" She winked. "Only the best for my friend, aye?"

Friend.

Right.

 _Just a friend,_ you reminded yourself. _Just a friend._

"You're sure Crowley and your mom won't come home early or something? I don't want them to take this the wrong way."

Like that you were on a _date_ date.

Which this was not.

"Positive. And even if they do come," she said with a shrug, "so what? Let them think what they want."

"I know, but Crowley… he's not really the biggest fan of our friendship. What if—"

"I'll deal with Fergus, if necessary," she cut in. "What we do in the privacy of my bedroom is none of his business."

You gulped.

Why did she have to say it like that?

"As for my mother, don't worry. She likes you."

The few times you met her she certainly did leave that impression, but still. What if she wasn't okay with her daughter being on a date with a girl? Would she believe it was only a friend date? Would she care?

"I know. I just…"

"You're nervous," Rowena guessed. Correctly. "Don't be. This is our night. Let's have some fun, shall we?"

You gave a nod, and she grinned.

"Have a bite." She pointed to the bed, where several bowls of different snacks laid, full to the brim.

You took a chip. "Since when do you like snacks?"

"I don't. But I know you do."

Warmth swelled up in your chest.

"What kind of a host would I be if I didn't feed my star guest?"

"Oh, now I'm a star?" you joked.

"Aye. This is your night. Can't let you go hungry, can I?" She scrunched up her face adorably and added, "As disgusting as those things are."

"Shut up!" You grabbed a few and shoved them in your mouth, prompting her to gag. "They're awesome."

"You're a pig."

It was an obvious joke, a quip that was pure teasing, no malice behind it.

Once upon a time she would have meant it. Would have called you that and looked at you as if you were a filthy peasant.

My, how far the two of you had come.

"Is that any way to treat a guest?" you asked, feigning offense.

"Just being honest, dear."

"Mean."

She shrugged nonchalantly and walked over to her bedside table that was lined with bottles that didn't look like juice and glasses that definitely weren't for juice. "Up for a drink?"

"What you got?"

"Scotch. Wine. Champagne." She poured herself a glass of yellow liquid that you assumed was scotch. It certainly wasn't iced tea.

"I dunno. I don't really drink."

"Come on! Live a little, lass! It's not every day that you celebrate New Year with me."

When she put it like that…

You sighed. "Fine. Give me whatever you're having."

She smirked. "Excellent choice."

"How'd you get all this?"

"Mother got it for me." She handed you your glass. "She thinks the drinking age in this country is ridiculous. In Scotland I wouldn't even have to ask for permission." She scoffed. "I'm a bloody adult. I should be allowed to drink if I want."

She wasn't wrong.

"Does your mom know I'm here?"

She nodded. "I told her I was in need of a friend. She was very understanding."

"And she's cool with it?"

"Why wouldn't she be?"

Because you were in love with her.

Because this date looked way too romantic for it to be just friendly.

Because, as hard as you worked to keep yourself in control, you still wanted her, badly, madly, wildly, and you couldn't stand the thought of someone — anyone, especially her mother — figuring it out by sheer luck.

Because… she was a girl, and so were you, and you didn't know what her mother would think if she were to realize you had feelings for her daughter.

The world was still a dangerous place for people like you. Unpredictable. You never knew what to expect.

You shrugged.

Rowena sighed. "Like I said, she likes you. She thinks you're a good influence."

You had to chuckle at that. "Me?"

You may not have been as wild as Rowena, but you were far from an innocent flower.

"Well, she's not wrong," Rowena said, a teasing smirk playing on her mouth. "You're a good girl."

Far from it.

Good girls rarely existed. Most of them were bad in their own ways; by following their own rules, living their own lives.

Being tamer didn't make you good — it just made you better at pretending.

"Have you met me?" you asked and took a sip of your scotch. Your face twisted with disgust as you swallowed the bitter liquid, even more so as it burned its way down your throat like molten fire.

"Case in point," Rowena said smugly.

"Oh, fuck you," you said, coughing, and lowered your glass next to the bottle. "You know I don't drink." She quirked up an eyebrow, another _gotcha._ Shit. "Just because I don't drink doesn't mean I'm a good girl."

"Are you saying you're bad?"

"Shades of grey."

"Right."

"If I was oh-so-good, I wouldn't hang out with you," you pointed out in irritation.

"Even good girls experiment," Rowena said nonchalantly.

"Trust me, honey," you said, "if I was experimenting, it wouldn't be with you. You aren't exactly my type."

A lie you had to say for the truth was, as much as you didn't want to admit it, she was exactly your type. Fierce. Sassy. Tough. Gorgeous. A little bit damaged. Imperfect, which made her perfect in your eyes.

"Och?" She didn't seem convinced, stepping over towards you and getting in your face. She was so close you could feel her breath in your skin; fresh, minty, a cool, misty dance over your skin. It made you shiver. "And what is your type?"

_You._

_Everything about you._

Her hair, always tamed, every strand in place. Red as the fire in her soul.

Her eyes, green as forests, sly as a cat's.

Her hands, so little, sprinkled with protruding veins, nails always glittering a different color.

Her accent that was charm personified.

Her patience.

Her kindness.

Her hidden depths.

In one word — her.

All of her.

But you couldn't admit that. It was too soon. It would always be too soon, the wrong time.

A classy girl like her could never possibly be interested in a nobody girl like you.

In a feigned burst of confidence, you said, "Wouldn't you like to know?"

"I'm a woman of knowledge," Rowena purred deliciously, the words melting on her mouth.

_Shit._

You licked your lips. "A girl, you mean."

"A woman. Of knowledge and needs. So many of them."

You gulped. Heat pooled in your belly, sliding lower, itching at places you couldn't — didn't dare — touch for doing so would expose your secret, your feelings, and, if that were to happen, you would be screwed — and not in the way you wanted.

"Well," you said, hoping to high heavens your voice wouldn't betray you, "I'm a _woman_ of secrets."

"That's naughty."

_So are you, but you don't see complaining._

"It's a fact," you said with a shrug. "Deal with it?"

"Should I?" She licked her lips, her tongue a bright pink against the lipstick. Taunting. Inviting."Or should I do something about it?"

Was she flirting?

Were you imagining it, or was she flirting?

She was.

The realization hit you like a slap straight across your face, sharp and precise.

Rowena MacLeod; the girl of your dreams; the one you'd been wanting for so long was flirting with you.

Openly.

Without a touch of shame, of hesitation.

It was as natural to her as breathing was.

But… why?

Aside from kindness, you had nothing to offer. You weren't popular, and neither were your friends. You had no money. No power. No influence of any kind. Your family wasn't rich. You weren't ugly, but you were far from beautiful; plain as day, one could say. A girl with the body and face that blended in with the crowds, no different, no more special than a random passerby. Average in everything, from grades to looks.

Far from the glamor Rowena craved.

So why?

Was she messing with you?

Or was she flirting to get her mind off what she'd gone through; the beating, the breakup, the loss of a girl she'd considered a friend?

Yes.

That was most likely it.

She was still hurting, and she wanted the pain to go away, wanted to forget all the bad and horrible.

She wasn't really interested in you.

She was in pain, and you were there.

That was all there was to it.

"How about we watch a movie?" you suggested, trying to hide the hurt in your voice.

You wanted her, so badly your heart ached, but you couldn't give in. She was hurting and flirting was her way of getting it under control. She probably wasn't even into you; you were just here, and you were safe. Someone she knew wouldn't harm her. So she went for it.

As much as you loved her, craved her like she was a drug, you had to stand your ground. Had to resist, no matter how hard it was. The last thing you wanted was to take advantage of her in this fragile state.

Rowena sighed, exasperated. She rolled her eyes. "Fine. If that's what you want."

Her tone made it clear it wasn't what she wanted.

"You promised me there'd be a movie," you reminded her.

"I suppose I did." She took a sip of her scotch before lowering her glass next to yours and grabbing her laptop. "I know you don't like classics. And I don't like horror. So I thought we could compromise."

"What do you mean?"

"Have you heard of a wee movie called Nosferatu?"

"Yeah."

Who hadn't?

She smirked. "That's our movie."

Nice.

Not exactly what you expected, but nice.

"You sure you're gonna be fine?" you taunted. "I heard it's very scary."

"Don't you worry your pretty little head, dear. I can take care of myself."

Or she would be scared and grab your hand again, as if her life depended on it.

You were okay with that.

Maybe you got scared as well and squeezed her hand.

Maybe this time she could be your savior.

Rowena placed the laptop on the foot of the bed. She moved the bowls of snacks on the floor and crawled on the bed, then motioned for you to join her.

Your heart thundered as you took a seat next to her. The bed was small, and you had to snuggle against one another. Her skin was warm against yours, the fabric of her dress soft as the gentlest caress.

She leaned into you and you reciprocated, linking your arm through hers. As the movie started, she tightened her hold and pressed further against you.

You held her tightly.

As a friend.

Wishing she were your lover and knowing she couldn't be.

As expected, Rowena got scared. She twitched and gasped, dug her nails into your arm as she held on as if for dear life. At one point she buried her head in your chest, and you threw an arm around her and held her close. It didn't matter that the danger wasn't real; you arm remained around her, a wordless promise of safety, of protection.

"Scaredy cat," you teased.

"Shut up," she retorted, voice muffled as her face remained pressed against your chest.

There were a few times when you flinched. She noticed each and every one and held on tighter, her own little assurance that you were safe.

You kept sipping on your drink throughout the movie. Rowena did the same, when she wasn't hiding in your chest. She seemed to be handling it well for her size; a lightweight she was not. You, on the other hand, started feeling the buzz after finishing your second glass.

By the time the movie ended, the two of you had pushed your glasses aside and instead took swigs straight out of the bottle, passing it between you like a volleyball.

"You'll turn me into an alcoholic," you said after taking a large pull. The drink burned at your throat as strongly as the first time, but by now you were used to it. You were almost craving the sensation of fire sliding down your throat, scorching your insides, setting you alight.

Alight you were!

Your whole body felt like it was on fire, skin tight on your bones. Hot. Too hot. Words jumbled in your head, twisted, split apart and flew back together until they lost their meaning. The room was spinning, running in circles.

It felt as if you were in a dream, one that was both good and bad. A perfect mixture of a nightmare and a pleasant fantasy.

Drunk.

That was what you were.

And, unusual as it was for you, you kind of liked it.

There were no rules tonight. No laws. No regulations. Just you and Rowena alone in her room, living the best life.

It was only for one night, but you intended to live it to the fullest.

"I never put the bottle in your hands," Rowena said, taking the bottle from you and gulping down. "That's all on you, dear."

You took the bottle back and drank some more. "You offered me drinks."

She reclaimed it. Hissed as the liquor bit at her throat. "It's a New Year celebration, for goodness' sake! Not a bloody slumber party!"

You laughed, an unexpected outburst. "You say 'bloody' really funny."

"Shut up!" She smacked your arm.

It only prompted you to erupt into giggles. "Your accent is funny. And hot. Really hot."

You may have crossed a line there, but who cared?

As she said, it was the New Year celebration.

No rules.

No lines.

No holding back.

Rowena snickered at your comment, then, smirking, said, "I know." An idea suddenly popped into her mind. "You know what we should do?"

You had an inkling of what you might do and you didn't like it one bit. "If you say 'watch another movie,' I'll kill you."

Nosferatu, however scary at times, was a bore fest for the most part. If it weren't for her snuggling with you and your mind constantly coming up with rather raunchy images every time her hold on you would tighten as if to remind you she was there, that she needed you, you would have fallen asleep.

A classics lover, you were not. Not even when it came to horror.

Rowena pouted. "I planned for us to watch Dracula."

"The Bela Lugosi one?"

She looked at you as if you were slow. Which, considering the amount of alcohol flooding your veins, you probably were. "Which else?" Before you could bring up a few other — modern — incarnations, she said, "That's not what I meant."

You frowned. "What then?"

"Dance!"

She sounded so happy, it hurt to turn her down. "I can't dance."

"But _I_ can."

"Ballet."

"Aye. Up until—" she looked you in the eyes, remembering the lie she'd fed you "—eighth grade."

"It's fine," you said in what was supposed to be a comforting manner, but, due to you slurring your words, it came off curt. Almost rude. "Crowley told me ages ago."

Normally, that would have led to a discussion, but now Rowena just narrowed her eyes suspiciously, looked you over, and, finally, nodded. "My brother needs to learn to keep his mouth shut. Anyway, I didn't do just ballet. I used to attend dance classes when I was younger. Still got the moves."

She purred the last bit deliciously. You couldn't resist a grin.

"Look at you! Tiny dancer." You burst into laughter at your own horrible joke. "Literally."

She smacked your arm lightly.

You pouted. "Ow."

She gave you a look, one of those judgmental ones that made you straighten up your act. Then she held her hands up to you and said, "Come on."

"Fine, Tiny Dancer."

It wasn't like you had anything to lose.

Rowena rolled her eyes. "Och, hush."

You took her hands, allowed her to pull you to her, to hold you against her. Her arms wrapped around you and she leaned her head on your shoulder as if to rest. She was warm. Soft. Fit perfectly into the curve of your body, like a piece of puzzle created solely for you. Her heart beat against your chest; soft, gentle little patters. Yours beat along; same rhythm, same pace, as if synchronized.

Your arms slid around her to reciprocate. You melted into the embrace, into the warmth she gave off, radiant as a sun. Your little shining star in the candlelit room.

Rowena started swaying, and your nerves exploded like fireworks. Tingles washed over your body as if a million fire ants were crawling underneath your skin, hot and cold all at once.

"What kind of dance is this?"

You were expecting something faster, wilder. More tango than waltz.

"Ours," she replied.

"What about the music?"

"We'll make our own."

Giving a slight nod, you followed her movements, slow, careful, gentle as the way she held you. Music sounded in the distance, followed be screeches and shouts. The town was celebrating, full of life. Ready to welcome the new year in all its glory.

You ignored it; ignored the noise, the needless distraction. Instead, your foggy mind focused on Rowena. On her skin on yours. On her lips, gentle, plump, pressed into your shoulder. On her hands, so small, so delicate, on your back. On her fingers tracing lines over your shirt. On her soft breathing and the beats of her heart.

It was as if nothing else existed but the two of you. All alone, drunk out of your minds, arms tight around one another. You, head over heels in love. Her, in desperate need of a friend, of affection.

Birds of a feather.

Made for each other.

_ONE…_

The exclamation shook you from your thoughts. The New Year was getting near, the town starting its counting, leading you to it.

_TWO…_

"Already?" you asked. Time had gone by so fast. It still felt as if it was nine o'clock and you were freezing your ass off out at the door.

"Mmhm," Rowena muttered.

_THREE…_

"This was a wild year, wasn't it?"

"We've become quite fond of each other, haven't we?" she said in agreement.

 _I fell in love with you,_ you wanted to say, and it took everything for your drunk mind to keep it to itself for it wanted nothing but to blurt it out, loud and clear for the entire town to hear.

_FOUR…_

"Yup," you said, tongue itching to spill the truth that was driving you mad. "Quite fond."

Rowena pulled back. Her eyes locked with yours in a gaze so intense you got lost in it. A moment passed by in silence, maddening, deafening, before she uttered, "I'm _very_ fond of you."

_FIVE…_

What was she trying to say?

Was she…?

No way!

No way in hell!

Your forehead fell to hers, the contact sending electric sparks through you. "Rowena…"

_SIX…_

She fluttered her eyes. Licked her lips like she was daring you to kiss them.

God, you were tempted!

"Very, very fond."

She _was._

Good god, she was flirting.

She wanted to kiss you.

Panic shot through you, urged your heart to rush. Should you give in? Should you kiss her? Or should you push her away?

What were you supposed to do?

_SEVEN…_

You wanted to kiss her.

You'd been wanting it for what felt like ages.

But was it right?

Did she really want it, or was she just trying to get over Lucifer?

Would she use you as a sort of a rebound?

Would you let her use you?

Would it be right?

"I…"

_I love you. I love you so much, it hurts!_

Did she love you, too?

Did you care?

You wanted her — god, you wanted her so much. Your heart hammered with it, the need growing stronger with each beat.

It was too soon to pursue her. She was still vulnerable, still bore the bruises both physically and mentally.

But if she pursued you…

Would it be wrong to give in? To let her have you the way she wanted?

_EIGHT…_

You looked her in the eyes again. Stared straight into the very depths of her soul.

"Are-are you sure?"

"Aye."

There was power in that one word. Conviction beyond doubt.

You believed it.

Believed her.

Believed the honesty in her eyes

_NINE…_

She wanted you.

Really, truly wanted you.

Out of confusion or genuine affection, you couldn't tell.

To your surprise, you found you didn't care.

She wanted you.

You wanted her.

That was all that mattered.

What did it matter why?

She was here. Offering what you'd been craving on a silver platter.

She was drunk, yes, but so were you. And, unlike you, she knew how to handle her liquor.

The whiskey, along with making you woozy, had given you a burst of courage.

You would be a fool not to take it.

But what if you were taking advantage?

What if _she_ was?

_TEN!_

Who cared?

It was a one time only chance.

Your dream come true.

Your fantasy come to life.

So what if you were inebriated?

You wanted her — loved her — all the same. More even.

And she was yours for the taking.

Why give her up when you could finally have her?

_HAPPY NEW YEAR!_

Sucking in a breath for courage, you gripped Rowena's shoulders, pulled her to you, and pressed your mouth to hers.

The consequences be damned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited by miss-moon-guardian.


	25. Back to School Blues

Funny thing about consequences — they tended to bite you in the ass.

Hard.

Rowena wasn't even mad. At least that was the impression you got from the spam of texts and private message boxes on every social media site you'd friended her on.

You ignored them all.

You hadn't talked to her since the morning of January first.

You'd woken up snuggled against her under the covers. What led to that, you didn't know. Everything after the kiss, which was when you'd resumed drinking, was a blank. You were pretty certain you hadn't had sex, but everything else was a mystery. If you'd shared more kisses, they were lost to the hangover.

Rowena claimed you hadn't.

You had taken her word for it.

As if waking up in her arms wasn't enough, her mother had greeted you on your way to the bathroom and had asked you to stay for breakfast.

You had, and afterwards you were gone.

Future you would sort everything out, you'd thought. If you ignored Rowena, the problem would go away until future you was ready to deal with it.

Then days melted away and the first day of school was here, and you realized what an idiot you'd been.

It was easy to not talk to Rowena, to act as if her messages didn't exist, when you didn't have to see her in person. It was easy to hate yourself, to go over the events of the night and beat yourself up. To tell yourself, over and over, that she deserved better than a friend who took advantage of her when she was at her most vulnerable.

Everything was easy when she wasn't standing right in front of you.

Ashamed of your behavior as you were, you knew you couldn't ignore her anymore.

It was time to face the music.

If it were up to you, you would've postponed seeing her. But you couldn't do that to her. You'd hurt her enough as it was.

Rowena didn't have Olivette anymore. Didn't have Olivette's little posse or Lucifer. Didn't have their friends and acquaintances on her side.

You were her friend now. You and Sam and Crowley and the rest of your little group. If any of them had a problem with that, you would deal with it. But you couldn't leave her alone.

Breaking it off with Lucifer and Olivette was hard enough. Having the entire school hear about what she'd gone through, what they'd done to her, probably even harder. There would be leers, and sneers, and rumors.

She couldn't be alone throughout it all.

You wouldn't let her be alone.

She was alone back in Scotland. Had to suffer through bullying and isolation without a single ounce of support.

Never again.

You'd made a promise to be there for her and you intended to keep it.

You waited for her at the gate. Your frozen bones begged you to go inside, but you wanted to walk her in. Wanted to show the sneering popular kids and the rumor-hungry vultures that she had someone on her side.

"Hey," you said as way of greeting, an awkward smile blooming on your mouth. Your heart raced, panicked, anxious, heat rushing into your cheeks.

Rowena blinked. "Oh, so you _are_ talking to me. Could have fooled me."

You deserved that.

"I wasn't—"

"You were."

You definitely were.

"I just…" _I just hated myself so much I couldn't bear to talk to you._ You would have to explain it. You owed her that much. "Can we talk about it later?"

She narrowed her eyes, suspicious.

She had every right to be.

You hadn't given her much of a choice.

"Fine," she said after a few moments of uncomfortable silence.

You breathed out in relief. "Thank you," you said and meant it, from the bottom of your heart. "I'm sorry."

"Later, remember?"

"I know, I just… I need you to know you didn't do anything wrong. I wasn't avoiding you because I was mad at you."

"I figured as much."

"Right." What did she think was the reason? Was she as mad at you as you were? "So, um, let's go in."

She stared, a knowing look in her eyes. "I don't need a babysitter."

Expect her to go for the defensive. "We're still friends, aren't we?"

"As far as I know," she said with a shrug.

You deserved that, too.

"As your friend, it's my duty to look out for you."

"I can take care of myself, Y/N. I'm not made of glass."

But, even as the words fell from her mouth, you could tell she appreciated your support. Her voice was too soft, tone too mild for anger.

She could play tough all she wanted — she wanted you to be there as much as you wanted it.

"We all need backup, don't we?" you asked. Before she could utter a retort, you said, "You know they're gonna be assholes."

"I know that, thank you very much," Rowena said. "I've spent four years with them. I know how they work."

"Then you know you shouldn't be alone." She scowled at you. You sighed. "I made you a promise, didn't I?"

"I suppose," she conceded.

"If they so much as look at you wrong, I'll kick their asses."

"Please, don't," she said half-heartedly. "I think I've used up all my get-out-of-trouble cards on Fergus."

You were flattered by the mere fact she considered it.

"What did happen with Crowley? He didn't tell me much," you said as you started walking inside. "I just know that your mom threatened Principal Shurley."

"Och, she was furious," Rowena said, an amused smile playing on her mouth. "Threatened to involve the police and sue him and the school."

Damn.

"She's badass."

She tilted her head up proudly. "Aye."

"Like mother, like daughter," you couldn't resist commenting, which earned you a significant look. One of those that resembled that of a cat eyeing its prey, eating its vulnerability up like candy. Compliments — Rowena MacLeod's drug of choice. "Did you have to be there?"

She nodded. "They called me out of class. I wasn't planning on saying anything, but Principal Shurley wanted to expel Fergus. Our mum was out of her mind. She didn't know what to believe. You know what Fergus is like."

You knew better than you liked to admit.

Trouble was practically the boy's middle name.

"So I told them everything," Rowena continued. A bitter chuckle escaped her. "Mum went… I believe the term you would use is _apeshit."_

You let out a chuckle of your own. "I can imagine."

"Lucifer isn't supposed to come near me. But I imagine he'll find a way."

Just as the words left her mouth, some of the kids looked at her and snickered. A couple of friends leaned closer to whisper to each other. A few of the popular girls, among them members of Olivette's little group, mumbled something indecipherable that made them all burst into giggles.

You glared at each and every one of them. Instinctively, your arm snaked around Rowena. You pulled her to you, against you, your grip on her tightening as you entered the school and passed by more onlookers.

 _Come on,_ you thought, almost challenging them. _Do something. Say something loud and clear. I fucking dare you!_

You were ready to wipe the floor with whomever thought themselves brave enough.

Or kick them in the crotch while screaming like Tarzan.

Whatever sent the message that Rowena wasn't to be touched, or hurt, or bullied. That she had you now, and, unlike her previous friends, you weren't just pretending to care about her.

You loved her.

So much.

Too much.

If anyone were to try anything, they had better be prepared for the only thing worse than an overprotective friend was an overprotective friend with more-than-friendly feelings.

"He's a coward," you said. "So are they. Look at them! It's like they'd drop dead if they didn't gossip."

"I'm sure that is exactly what they think would happen," Rowena said. "Everybody loves a juicy story."

She made no attempts to remove your arm. Gave no signs that she was uncomfortable. She just walked beside you, with your arm around her, head held high and proud as the crowds stared and whispered. Every step she took was graceful. If the unpleasant attention got to her, she didn't let it show. Instead, her face was a blank, a mask of frost as cold as the air outside. Her safety blanket.

They couldn't hurt her if she didn't let them.

They couldn't do anything if she didn't let it show.

A chorus of greetings suddenly erupted as your friends, standing in a circle by a wall as always, noticed you coming. High fives were exchanged. Jokes told. Smiles bright on mouths. As if you hadn't seen one another for a decade rather than two weeks.

Meg had her arm around Castiel, who was awkward as ever. Dean high fived you. Crowley made a sarcastic quip that made you laugh and roll your eyes at the same time. Sam gave you a gentle smile.

All was the same as always.

Then their eyes landed on Rowena, who was still wrapped in your one-armed embrace, and a quiet, deafening, uncomfortable, settled down like fog.

Cheeks flaming, you pulled your arm back. A tad too quickly for it to not be suspicious.

Your friends noticed, but no one said a word. They just stared, eyes narrowed into slits. Scanned you like microscopes, taking in every detail, every twitch on your face, every flickering emotion you tried your hardest to hold back for letting it show would make everything worse.

"Rowena, it's nice to see you." Sam was the first to break the silence, kind and courteous as always. Friendly to the bone. The only one who didn't mind her presence and, you were certain, would welcome her into the group with open arms.

"Samuel," Rowena said with a nod. Her face was a mask of steel, a well-manufactured facade. A protection against the awkwardness for she'd had enough of it for one day and she wasn't going to let it get to her. "Always the flatterer."

He grinned. "How are you doing?"

"As well as one can when they're the school's punching bag." It came out bitter, sour. Raw with emotion she wasn't willing to let show.

"You know that's not true," you told her, laying a hand on her shoulder.

She eyed it, cautious, but let it stay there. "Isn't it?" She snorted. "Not that it matters. Been there, done that, aye? I'll get used to it."

 _You shouldn't have to,_ you wanted to say. Your heart ached for her, broke into a thousand pieces.

She didn't have to get used to it.

She didn't have to take it.

She didn't have to live with it as if it were a normal part of life.

No matter what she'd done, who she'd hung out with — she didn't deserve to suffer like this.

"Rowena…" you trailed off, unsure what to respond.

To the surprise of everyone, Meg spoke up. "Punch them in the mouth." All eyes turned to her. "What? It's what I'd do. Whenever they say anything — or, hell, if they just look at you wrong — punch them. Hard. Won't be long before they start fearing you. No one wants to talk shit about a crazy chick, right?"

Rowena smirked, quite impressed, by the looks of it.

You shared the sentiment.

Meg was right — a good, well-aimed punch was a sure way to shut any foul mouth.

"No!" Sam said, horrified. "You can't just go around punching people!"

"And they can go around spreading rumors?" Meg scoffed. "I don't think so."

"That's not what I meant."

She ignored him. "Lucifer tried to spread shit when I cut him off. Didn't get too far." She raised up her fist proudly, balled so tight her knuckles were sheet-white. "Turns out, people love not being punched more than they love gossiping."

Well, shit.

Who would have thought Meg, of all people, would accept Rowena so quickly?

It made sense, you supposed. There was a time Meg used to be in the same boat. Lucifer's little toy, pushed around and talked down to. She was into him, and he used that to his advantage. She wasn't good enough for him to date her, but that didn't stop him from teasing her. Didn't stop him from flirting and backing away at the very last moment. Didn't stop him from giving her hope and then crushing it without regard for her feelings.

She got out.

And so had Rowena.

Their personalities may have different, but this was one thing they had in common.

"I can punch them for you," Meg offered.

Rowena blinked, startled. Utterly taken aback. "You would do that?" Her tone was disbelief personified.

Meg grinned like it was Christmas. "Why not? You're part of the gang now, aren't you? Besides, any enemy of Lucifer is a friend of mine."

"I…" Rowena trailed off, at a loss of words. She didn't know Meg. She knew she used to hang around Lucifer and that she was dating his brother, but aside from that, she knew nothing about her.

She was sure Meg knew plenty about her; how she used to join in on bullying; how she laughed at others' misfortune; how she stood aside while her — now former — friends made people's lives a living hell.

And yet, despite all that, she wanted to help her. She welcomed her with open arms and was already treating her as a friend.

Rowena couldn't understand that.

You hoped she learned to soon.

This was what friendship was. What _love_ was. Acceptance. Protection. Kindness.

Heavens knew she needed plenty of it.

"Kill me now," Crowley commented dramatically as usual.

You sighed. "What's your problem _now?"_

He looked at Rowena pointedly. "She's my problem. As if living with her's not enough. Now I have to be around her at school."

"As if I enjoy your presence," Rowena shot back, face scrunched with distaste. "Don't flatter yourself, Fergus. This is not a walk in the park for me, either. I most certainly don't mean to intrude."

"Hey, hey!" you said, hands up in a placating motion. "You're not intruding." Crowley scoffed and you fired, "She's not! She's my friend and she has every right to be here."

"I think what Crowley is trying to say—" Dean tried, ever the devil's advocate. He never liked Rowena. Even after he'd found out what she'd gone through, he remained suspicious of her. He fully supported Crowley beating the shit out of Lucifer — he'd admitted he would've done the same — but his feelings about her remained unchanged.

You cut him off. "Crowley's being an ass!"

He was entitled to his feelings, but he had no right to talk shit about her.

Rowena was your friend — his brother's friend — whether he liked it or not.

Either he deal with it, or you cut him off for, though you'd known him for far longer, Rowena was the one you loved, the one you'd sworn to protect. What she was to you, Dean could never be.

Your choice was clear in the matter.

"Does anyone else have a problem with Rowena being here?" you asked.

"No," Sam said.

"I was clear, wasn't I?" Meg said.

"Why would I?" Castiel said.

Dean just shrugged, not in the mood for arguments, while Crowley rolled his eyes.

"There," you said. "She's staying."

"I don't want to impose," Rowena said, staring pointedly at her brother.

"You're not imposing. You heard them," you told her, squeezing her shoulder. "You're my friend. Where I go, you go."

"Yeah," Sam said. "You're one of us now."

She didn't seem too thrilled at the prospect for your group was far from what she was used to, but she pulled on a smile, bright and happy.

Looking forwards to her new, secure life.

"Welcome to the team," you told her, intent on making sure she got it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited by miss-moon-guardian.


	26. The Queen of Hearts Can't Have Mine

Despite the initial difficulties, the first day back in school had gone surprisingly well.

Your friends had no issues with Rowena, talking and having fun as if they weren't hanging out with a former mean girl. Crowley was his usual dramatic self, more annoying than malicious, and Dean behaved. It was clear he didn't like being around her, but he was civil.

You'd asked for nothing more.

He didn't have to be her friend. He didn't have to like her. But he didn't have to be mean, either.

Sam, Meg, and Castiel had acted as if she were always part of the group.

At one point, Castiel had attempted to apologize for his brother being an asshole, only for Rowena to hold up her hand and stop him mid sentence. He owed her nothing, she'd said. She'd wanted no pity. He'd responded with a mod.

Fair was fair.

Though, you could tell she appreciated the effort. Not many people cared about her, about what she'd gone through. It was odd to see some that did. Unnatural even. She wasn't used to it.

She'd better get used to it, you'd thought. Because she wasn't alone now — would never be alone again, just as you'd promised — and she would, sooner or later, learn what true friendship was. You and your friends — her friends now — would teach her.

Ms. Hanscum had brought back the midterms, all diligently graded. While Rowena was doing hers in the corner, no doubt acing it because she was Rowena MacLeod and that was what she did, the teacher had handed out the graded exams and rambled on about everyone's scores.

You'd gotten a C+.

Rowena had outdone herself.

Were it not for her, you had no doubt you would have failed it.

So, as the bell rang to end the class, the two of you had waited for everyone to leave the classroom before asking Ms. Hanscum if your tutoring arrangement could extend to this semester.

She happily agreed.

Anything to help her students.

The woman loved her job way too much.

On your way out, she'd offered you a donut, which, as usual, you'd taken and Rowena had declined. Which hadn't stopped her from poking fun at you, but what else was new?

"Wonderland, after school," she'd said as you'd nibbled on your treat.

You'd looked at her, lips stained with chocolate, powdered sugar framing your mouth. You must have looked like a clown.

Her expression had told you that you had.

"What?"

"Wonderland. It's a wee tea bar. We can go there to talk."

"Tea bar?" You knew those words separately, but together they'd made no sense.

"It's a bar. Where they only serve tea," Rowena had explained as if you were stupid.

Which, to be fair, you'd kind of felt.

"Okay," you'd allowed, despite it not being okay. Nothing about this had been okay.

You weren't ready to talk to her. Weren't ready to bare your soul, to expose the truth that had taken you yourself a while to accept. But, at the same time, you'd owed her an explanation.

So here you were.

At the Wonderland tea bar.

The place was small and looked ridiculously cute. There were lots of pastel colors on the walls; paintings, furniture, decorations. Doilies that looked homemade covered every free surface. The chairs were comfortable, doily-covered tables clean and neat, carved out of fine food.

It was as if you'd stepped inside a dollhouse.

There was one waitress slash bartender, an older lady whom you'd suspected of being the owner. Out of seven available tables, only one was occupied.

It was a lone place. Hidden in an alley people rarely went to, between two brick houses you were pretty sure were either abandoned or being — hopelessly — put up for sale.

You could tell why Rowena liked it.

There were no people to pry. No peers to butt in like in Biggerson's. No wandering eyes and foul tongues. No Lucifer and Olivette sitting a few tables away and laughing their nasty asses off.

Just peace and quiet. Solemn. Welcome.

"You come here a lot?" you asked as you took your seats in the far back corner, just to be safe. A conversation like this, you needed utmost privacy.

"When I need alone time," Rowena said. "Quite cosy, isn't it?"

"Yeah. It's really nice."

Too nice for the conversation you were about to have.

Somehow it felt wrong to bring up taking advantage of your friend — your drunk, hurting friend — while surrounded by pink and mint walls and cute little doilies.

What if you started to argue?

What if tears flew like a downpour?

What if everything went wrong and, instead of discussing what had happened in a calm, civil matter, you erupted into a shouting match and were not-quite-politely asked to leave?

That sort of thing would have, at the very least, been expected at Biggerson's. A place full of hormonal teenagers was bound to have a fight at one point — had, in fact, had a few.

You and Rowena were unpredictable. You worked well together, but sometimes emotions ran too high and you both exploded, unable to contain them. It was just the way you were.

You hoped that wouldn't be the case this time.

"I'll have my usual, please," Rowena said when the waitress came to take your orders.

Not sure what to order, you said, "I'll have what she's having."

After all, it was just tea.

How bad could it be?

"They have the best Scottish tea in America," she said once the waitress was gone.

Guess you would see.

If Rowena loved it, it couldn't possibly be terrible. The girl had an exquisite taste. Only the best for her little ass.

You waited for the tea in silence, and as soon as it arrived, Rowena spoke up, "So. Talk."

You stiffened. Your heart pummeled, slammed against your chest almost to the point of pain. You took a sip of your tea, the bittersweet taste melting your insides, clearing your constricted throat. "I-I'm sorry."

She raised an eyebrow. "You're starting with an apology?"

What else should you have started with?

After what you'd done, how you'd behaved, there was nothing you could do but apologize.

Shrugging, you said. "I owe you that, don't I?"

"Fair," she conceded.

"I'm sorry for ignoring you. It was a shitty thing to do."

"I'd say so." You flinched as if struck (which surely would have hurt less), and her expression softened. "Why _did_ you do it? Surely, as _friends—"_ the word came out in a purr, the look in her eyes devilish, teasing "—we could have sorted it out."

Why was she acting so nonchalant about it?

Wasn't she bothered by being taken advantage of?

"I know. I just… I couldn't face you after what I did."

That made her pause. "What is it you think you did?"

She didn't know?

Really?

Was she messing with you? Baiting you to see if you would take responsibility?

"I took advantage of you." The words were bitter on your tongue. Foul. Filthy. You wanted to wash your mouth out with soap.

Rowena blinked. One time. Two. Three. She stared as if you'd suddenly grown a second head with pointed horns and snake eyes.

"Are you joking?" she asked, a nervous smile playing on her mouth. Her face was a mask of confusion, of bafflement, eyes narrowed into suspicious slits.

You swallowed a lump that had formed in your throat. Gulped down some more tea. Looked sideways, up, down — anywhere but at her.

She paled. "You're serious."

You gave a nod. A small one, barely noticeable. Your fingers tightened around the tea mug as if it were an anchor, as if letting go would make you lose your balance and your body would crumple into a pile of dust.

Of course you were serious.

You'd never been more serious about anything in your life.

Why was she looking at you as if she didn't believe you?

Did she think you would forget about it and act as if nothing had ever happened?

That wasn't you. Would never be you.

You loved her — respected her, cherished her — too much to do that to her.

To anyone, but especially her.

You would never do anything to harm her. Not in your sane, conscious mind. Not on purpose.

You'd allowed alcohol to get the better of you and you needed to own up to it like a woman.

"Y/N, dear," Rowena said, choosing her words carefully, "when, exactly, did this _taking advantage of me_ occur?"

It was your time to blink in confusion.

Was she serious?

"New Year."

Something unreadable crossed her face. "I see."

"I'm really, really sorry." Tears pricked at your eyes like needles, staining them red as her hair. "I was drunk. Which is no excuse! I just — I didn't mean to do it."

A short silence, then, "Huh."

Just that.

_Huh._

Surprised. Uncertain. Disbelieving.

Of you?

Of your apology?

You couldn't tell.

All you knew was, she didn't believe you.

A nice way of saying she most likely thought you a filthy liar unworthy of her time.

If that were the case, you didn't blame her.

There were times you wished you could get out of your skin and get away from yourself, too.

Rowena cleared her throat. Sucked in a breath. Gulped. "So you took advantage of me while drunk? Am I getting this right?"

Shit.

_Shit, shit, shit._

She was mad.

She had to be mad.

"Yeah," you said meekly, avoiding her eyes.

"What—" a cough, a feigned one, "—what makes you think that?"

What was she playing at?

"What do you mean?"

"You're telling me you took advantage of me," she said as if she were speaking to a child, a slow, careful string of words. "I want to know why you think that's what you did."

Was she pulling your leg?

"Because I did."

She was in pain.

She was drunk.

She'd flirted with you, and you'd kissed her despite knowing it was wrong. All because you wanted her. Because the scotch you'd filled your blood with had to told you it was okay, that it was a victimless crime.

It wasn't.

Rowena was vulnerable, and, instead of being her friend, you'd taken advantage of her.

"Did you? You are one hundred percent sure that is what happened?"

"I already told you—"

"Aye," she cut you off. "You did. Pardon me. I am just… _confused_ by your version of events."

You said nothing. Offered no commentary, no further elaborations. Just sat, frozen in place, holding onto your mug as of your life depended on it.

"I don't understand why you think you took advantage of me."

What?

What did she mean, she didn't understand?

Had she actually blocked the memory out?

"I-I kissed you," you stammered.

"You did," she confirmed, amused.

"You were drunk."

"I was."

"It was wrong."

"It wasn't."

You forced yourself to look at her. To lock your eyes with hers, those fierce, intense greens staring right back as if in a challenge.

"Rowena…"

What did she mean, it wasn't wrong?

Was this one of her little games, a remnant of her mean girl days?

Was she testing you?

Or — this was something you hadn't yet considered, something that hadn't occurred to you for you were busy hating yourself — was she genuinely clueless?

Rowena was a tease by nature. A spicy little firecracker. What if she'd flirted, not because she was drunk out of her mind and hurting, but because she was interested?

What if she wanted you as much as you wanted her?

_No. No way!_

A girl like Rowena, classy, high end, could never be interested in a nobody like you.

It wasn't possible.

Things like that didn't happen.

"I…"

"I wanted you to kiss me," Rowena said. "If you hadn't gone for it, I would have."

Your cheeks were on fire. A storm raged in your stomach, twisted and turned, a tornado that rummaged you from the inside out. You were suddenly queasy, lightheaded. You tried to take a sip of tea, but your hands were shaking and you kept them on the table, gripping the mug, terrified you would drop it.

"B-but…"

The words you wanted to say — the few of them you could remember for your mind was a jumbled mess — froze in your constricting throat. You struggled to breathe, struggled to think, struggled to sit here and act as if everything was normal.

As if Rowena hadn't said she wanted you to kiss her.

It was easier in your daydreams. So much less complicated. She would say you were the woman of her dreams, you would gasp and start crying, and then you would start making out as if there was no tomorrow. Sometimes she would confess her undying love for you in dramatic fashion worthy of a Broadway play. Sometimes she would fall on her knees, or ask you to run away with her, or take you to her car so you could be the Bonnie to her Clyde and you would ride into the sunset, guns blazing, police sirens blaring.

Neither scenario ended with you choking to death on your own words or spontaneously combusting from your nerves firing into overdrive.

And yet, here you were.

Rowena watched you, amused by your reaction because of course she was. "But?"

You gulped. Swallowed a thick lump that had formed at the back of your throat. "Y-you were hurting. I didn't… I…" _Breathe,_ you reminded yourself. _Just breathe. In and out._ "You'd just broken up with Lucifer. A-and all that other stuff happened. I thought you…"

"What? That I was on a rebound?"

Spoken like that, the words stung.

You nodded.

"I can assure you, I was not."

Your heart jumped. Slammed against your chest, over and over, like a hammer.

"What happened was still fresh," Rowena admitted, "but that's not why I flirted with you." A smile, small, beautiful, blossomed on her mouth. "I like you, Y/N. Not as a replacement for _Lucifer."_ She spat his name as if it were filth on her tongue. "I like you for you."

She liked you.

Jesus Christ in heaven and hell and everything in-between, she liked you!

She fucking liked you!

All this time you'd been hating yourself, wishing you'd never kissed her, only to find out she'd wanted you to.

She truly, genuinely wanted you to.

Not to get over Lucifer.

Not to forget the drama that had unfolded in the school hall.

Not to make the pain of her bruises wane.

Not because she was drunk, or because you were drunk and couldn't control yourself.

Rowena MacLeod had flirted with you and had wanted you to kiss her because she liked you.

This wasn't a dream you would wake up from anytime now.

It wasn't a fantasy that would break with the snap of her perfectly manicured fingers.

It was real; as real as your feelings, as the frantic beats of your heart. As the tea you were nursing, and the table you were sitting at, and the waitress that was staring at her phone, bored out of her mind.

All of it was real.

Good god, all of it was real!

And, of course, in true you fashion, you had to make a fool of yourself by asking, "Why?"

Rowena raised a perfectly groomed eyebrow. "Beg pardon?"

"Why me?"

"Why not?"

Because you were a mess.

Because there wasn't much you could offer her other than yourself.

You cleared your throat. "You're into girls?"

"I'm bisexual," she said. "I've a preference for boys, but I am very much into girls as well."

_Oh._

Okay.

That made sense.

Gathering up the remnants of your courage, you said, "I like you, too. I guess."

She narrowed her eyes, confused. Having — painfully obviously — expected a different response. "You guess?"

"I…"

_I love you._

More than anything.

More than life itself.

But…

What if something happened?

What if one of you said or did the wrong thing and everything fell apart?

What if admitting you loved her led to you losing her?

What if—

"I can't do this!" It slipped out before you could try to stop it. An instinct, a flight-or-fight response you couldn't control.

It was too much.

All of this was too much!

"Y/N?" Rowena said, voice soft, concerned from the depth of her soul.

"I can't-I can't lose you."

There.

It was out now.

Why were you still struggling to breathe?

Why did your throat still feel as if it were being crushed, as if a hand, strong, meaty, were holding it in an iron grip?

Why did your heart jump around as it it were about to explode?

Why was your body betraying you?

"You aren't going to lose me," Rowena assured you. Looked you straight in the eyes as she uttered the words to make it clear she meant every single one. "Why in hell would you think that?"

Because you knew how things like this went.

Friends became lovers, then something happened — one of them said something stupid or did something bad, irreparable — and it broke them apart, and they were gone from each other's lives for good.

You didn't want the same fate to befall you and Rowena.

Losing her would crush you. Would break you more than being so close yet so far away did.

"It happens," you said. "Friends become more than friends, and everything goes to hell." You snapped your fingers. "Just like that."

Rowena wasn't fazed by your explanation. "It doesn't have to."

"It does."

"Not all the time."

"Enough to count."

She sighed. "Goodness, lass!"

You were being ridiculous — you knew you were. But you couldn't help it. Couldn't fight it for it was stronger than you, almost like an instinct taking hold of you, of your body, of every nerve and cell that contained you.

You loved her.

You wanted her.

Yet, despite all that, you didn't dare touch her.

She'd all but offered herself up on the silver platter, and you were too afraid, too damn terrified to even look at her.

You were a coward!

A pathetic, disgusting coward.

If it meant keeping her, you told yourself, so be it. You could live with that.

It didn't make it hurt — didn't make you hate yourself — any less.

"Nothing _has_ to happen," Rowena added, "if you don't want it to. We can still be friends."

It pained her to say it — you could see it on her face — but she still flashed a smile for you, one of those beautiful ones that made butterflies roil in your stomach. Her hand gently fell over yours. You released the mug, allowed her fingers to wrap around yours, to lock them in a gentle knot.

The touch sent a jolt of electricity through you. Your hand was numb under it, skin burning under the warmth she radiated, the softness, the protection.

Home.

She felt like home.

You wanted it to happen.

You wanted everything to happen.

You wanted to kiss her again. Wanted to wrap your arms around her and never let her go. Wanted to shout from the rooftops that she was yours, that you loved her from the bottom of your soul for the whole damn world to hear.

At the same time, you were scared. Various scenarios flashed through your head, each ending with you and Rowena in tears. Hearts broken. Friendship — what remained of it — shattered, never to be repaired. Lives forced to part.

There were so many ways in which this — whatever it was for you didn't dare put a label in it — could end badly.

And, you admitted, however horrible the hold the fear had on you, just as many ways in which it could end well.

Thinking of it rationally, you had no reason to be scared. The attraction was mutual, the feelings strong enough to be more than simply friendly. Rowena was a good friend, a loyal one. Patient. Kind. She'd shown you sides of her no one — not even her brother — knew. She trusted you with her vulnerabilities, with her weaknesses as much as she did with her strengths. She'd allowed you to know her — to truly know her, bare soul and all.

She wouldn't have told you how she felt if it wasn't real.

And you — god, you loved her! You loved her more than you'd ever loved anyone. More than you loved your friends. It was a different kind of love; a deeper one, more profound. The kind forged in the depths of the heart, in the core of the soul.

It was the kind of love that made you fear the mere thought of losing it.

You knew you were overreacting. There was no reason you and Rowena wouldn't work as a couple. You were both stubborn as mules and strived to get your way, but that was one of the ways you worked so well together. You completed each other. Uplifted each other. Had each other's back. You chose each other when the world tried to keep you apart and rose from the ashes stronger, closer.

You would work.

Just as you'd worked as friends.

Maybe even better.

"I…" Once again the words refused to come out, as if someone had stuffed your throat with cardboard. "I want…"

_You._

_I want you._

You could say it, you told yourself. It was just three words. Three small, simple words.

_I want you._

It wasn't difficult.

Just three words.

_I want you._

_I love you._

"I…"

Tears spilled from your eyes, a bitter river that bit at your cheeks. Your heart thrummed, wild, out of control. Breaths quickened. Head spun as if you were drunk again.

This was too much.

You couldn't do it.

Couldn't take it.

It was too damn much!

"I'm sorry." You forced the words out, willed the remnants of your strength into pushing then out.

And then you were out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited by miss-moon-guardian.


	27. The Mad Hatter Kind of Crazy

"You don't get to do this!" Rowena shouted, hot on your heels just outside Wonderland. "Not again! Don't you dare walk away from me!"

You stopped in your tracks. The cold air nipped at your skin, seeped into your veins like poison. It burrowed into your bones, sending shivers through your entire body, from the top of your head to your toes. You pulled your scarf further up your neck. Cursed yourself for forgetting your gloves. Wrapped your arms around your middle in a feeble attempt to save what was left of your warmth.

The tears kept coming. They were falling like a downpour, drenching your puffy, frost-whipped face. Your eyes hurt, pricked by the never-ending stream of tears. Your cheeks were raw. Lips trembling, more from crying than the cold. Nose stuffed, making it hard to breathe.

God, you were a mess!

You kept your back turned to Rowena. After what you did — after what you tried to do, _again_ — you didn't dare face her.

Feeling guilty for taking advantage (regardless of whether or not it'd happened) was one thing.

Pushing her away and running away — turning your back on her — was something completely different.

You were crazy. The Mad Hatter kind that made sense to no one, not even you, and least of all Rowena.

You were a bad friend.

And, worst of all, you were a coward.

Instead of facing your fears, trying to address them, you fled. Like a child caught eating cookies they weren't supposed to touch, hurriedly pulling their hand out of the jar and hiding it behind their back. You got caught, and you ran.

It was pathetic, really. You loved Rowena. Wanted to be with her. Wanted to kiss her and hold her and cherish her till the end of time. She seemed to be feeling the same. There was absolutely no reason to think you would lose her.

And yet…

Yet the images of her leaving, of her walking away with her head held high filled your head and there was nothing you could do but cry and work hard to keep the rising sobs from breaking free.

"I-I'm sorry," you whimpered for what must have been the hundredth time today.

"Stop bloody apologizing!" Rowena snapped.

You flinched at her tone, at the whip-thin sharpness of it.

What were you supposed to do, if not apologize?

What other options did you have?

"Tell me what is going on." It was an order. A command that left no room for argument for she certainly wasn't in the mood for any. "I have a right to know."

"This isn't about you."

"Oh, is it not? Could have fooled me."

_It's about me._

If only you were brave enough to say it out loud.

"Am I so horrible that you can't even lie to my bloody face?!"

A sudden, unexpected wave of heat washed over you. You whipped around to face her. "I'm not lying! And you're not horrible. Don't say things like that!"

If anyone was horrible, it was you.

You were the one running from your fears instead of facing them.

"What do you want me to say?" Rowena demanded. "Because I would love to say plenty! I prefer talking to running away like a bloody coward!"

You deserved that.

Your vision blurred as tears kept coming, restless, unforgiving. You wiped your eyes with the sleeve of your coat. The fabric was rough against your raw skin; it scratched, and the cold kept on its assault, slamming into the tender flesh.

It stung as if a million ants had bitten into it.

You barely felt it.

There was only one ache that soared through you. One ache that ate away at you like acid, one painful bite at a time, that made your legs feel as if they were made of jelly and your arms tremble.

It came straight from your heart.

A horrible cliché, you were.

You almost wanted to laugh at yourself. But you didn't — you couldn't — for, however silly it sounded, the pain was real and strong and you were barely keeping it together.

"You're right," you said, every inch of you — every cell, every nerve — flaring. "I'm a coward."

You sucked in a breath. Then another. And another. Breathed in and out like a good little girl. Your family's pride and joy, you thought bitterly.

Rowena had to know.

It would be horrible and embarrassing and there was a chance — big? Small? One could never know with her — she would be mad at you (well, madder than she already was), but you had to tell her everything.

Every single detail.

From the beginning and up to the very end.

What was the point of keeping it to yourself?

It wasn't like you had anything left to lose.

"You used to annoy me so much, you know that?"

You gave a small chuckle at the memory of the times you rolled your eyes at her antics. You used to think she was a bitch, a cold, heartless thing that didn't give a damn about anything or anyone but herself.

My, how the tides had turned.

She still annoyed you from time to time; it was in her DNA. But now there was no malice to it. No bad intentions. It was an endearing personality flaw. Sort of cute, if you gave it some thought.

"The feeling was mutual," Rowena said with a smirk.

You'd grown on her.

That, too, was mutual.

"I used to think you were this heartless bitch." A laugh, a nervous one. "And then…" Your expression softened as new memories flooded your brain. Her smile. Her laugh. Her endless patience as you struggled to understand the most basic math. "I got to know you."

Not many people got the privilege.

Rowena was a secretive creature. She kept her mask of iron on at all times, kept the walls she'd built over the years up. She'd put up a front and stuck with it. Adapted it into a new personality; one of cruelty, of indifference, of arctic coldness that screamed at everyone to stay away.

Love was weakness.

Feelings were weakness.

Then you started spending time with her and, slowly, the ice melted, revealing a girl who was just like everybody else. Soft. Sweet. A person made of flesh and blood. Capable of kindness despite how much she wanted to believe otherwise.

Capable of — you still couldn't believe it, couldn't comprehend how and why it happened — love.

You were unclear what led to it. Weren't sure what you'd said or done. But somehow you'd gotten her — Rowena MacLeod, the ice queen, the evil bitch — to care about you.

A popular girl and a loser girl.

It sounded like a bad fanfiction.

"You're so fucking precious, you know that?"

Rowena's cheeks flushed ripe cherry red. "I've been called worse."

You chuckled through tears. "You are. Took me a while to realize it. But once I did, I knew I never wanted to lose you." You swallowed a lump in your throat. This was it. Now or never. "You know how I said I heard Lucifer and Olivette?"

You'd meant to explain it ages ago.

But then the entire breakup drama happened, followed by the New Year spectacle, and you'd forgotten all about it.

It was time to come clean. Rowena deserved to know the truth.

"I was gonna tell you the next day."

She cocked her head to the side, curious. "Why didn't you?"

"Because…" A new batch of tears, fresh and salty, down your raw cheeks. You sniffled. "You were so mad at Crowley when he told you Lucifer was cheating. And he's your _brother._ I'm just your friend. I thought you'd say I was lying, or that I was jealous, and you wouldn't want anything to do with me anymore."

Rowena flinched as she took your words in. Understanding spilled over her face, hit her like a slap.

Neither of you were innocent here. This situation — this drama — wouldn't have happened had you been reasonable individuals. Instead, you were both dramatic, each in her own way. Two impulsive, hormonal teenage girls. Too smart for your own good. Too opinionated, rebellious. Brimming with feelings neither of you knew how to deal with.

"I wouldn't do that," she said, picking her words with utmost care. She set her jaw. "I was blind when it came to Lucifer — I'm not denying that — but I would never have chosen him over you."

"You would have."

It stung to say it out loud.

"A long time ago," she conceded, and hated herself as she did so. "Not then." A pause, then, "Not now."

Things were different now.

She felt… something for you. Something friendly, surely no more than that, but it was _something._

She _liked_ you.

She wasn't with Lucifer anymore. She was single, and into you, and she'd flirted with you and had practically goaded you into kissing her.

She wanted you.

And you wanted her.

And it terrified you to the bone.

"You've nothing to be afraid of, darling." The pet name rolled off her tongue with ease, an endearing, delicate little sound that made your stomach flutter with thousands of butterflies. "Nothing is going to tear me away from you. I promise you, I am not going anywhere."

"Stuff can happen."

Knowing your luck, something bad and horrible _would_ happen.

Things would be okay, and then that something would reach for your heart, pull it out of your chest, and crush it right in front of you as blood dripped into a puddle at your feet.

"Nothing will happen," Rowena insisted.

"You can't promise that!"

You knew you were being childish. Your fears were unfounded, worries baseless. And yet, you were still scared. You still trembled at the images of her back in your head, of her legs walking into the distance far away.

"Goodness!" She groaned in frustration. Threw her arms up in surrender. "Forget I said anything. Can you do that? We never kissed. I don't like you. Today didn't happen. Okay?"

But it did.

You couldn't just move on.

"It doesn't work like that."

She sighed. "What do you want, then? Because you aren't making sense. I don't know if you're angry at me, or at yourself, or at the bloody weather!"

"Things aren't that simple!" you exclaimed. Why couldn't she understand?

"Then make them simple!" she demanded. "I'm sick of playing cat and mouse! Tell me what you want and you will bloody get it! Just stop this nonsense!"

"I can't! Don't you get it? I can't stop! I'm scared, and I know it's stupid, but I can't fucking stop it!"

More tears fell. You wiped them away, cleared your blurry vision for a moment before new ones poured out in their place.

"It's all because of you!"

She shot you a glare, incredulous, pissed to high heavens. "Oh, so it's my fault?"

"Yes! It is! Always being so fucking nice. Why couldn't you just be a bitch like normal?"

Your heart raced. Hands balled into fists. Heat rushed to your cheeks and down your back like millions of fire ants crawling underneath your skin.

"You lured me to you, and now I can't even bear the thought of being away from you!"

That was right.

She needed to hear it.

You needed to tell her, needed to make her see what she'd done to you — what she was still doing to you.

"You made me be your friend! You made me care about you!"

She hadn't even tried, and you were in her web, a trapped little fly with no way out.

Didn't she see how dangerous she was? How enticing, how alluring? Didn't she see what she was doing to you?

Didn't she see how much power she had over you?

"And now — you went too far."

You stalked over to her. Stared her down like an animal, a wild, accusatory look in your eyes. Rowena gave back as good as she got, but you didn't stumble. You were done letting her get away with wrecking you.

"I love you." It came out as a squeak, weak, pathetic. You cleared your throat. "I fucking love you, Rowena!" A whimper escaped you, like that of a hurt puppy. "I love you, and I don't know how it happened or why, but I know you did it to me, and I'm scared and angry and I don't know what to do anymore!"

Rowena gulped. Her eyes widened, shock painting her face, twisting her features. She stared; at you, straight into your eyes, to the core of your soul. When she spoke, her lips were trembling, "You… love me?"

"Yeah."

A wave of panic swept over you, sudden and sharp as a slap to the face.

Was telling her a mistake?

Had you gone too far?

Cold, dreadful chills bit at the back of your neck before sliding down your spine as the realization of what you'd just done settled in.

You told her you loved her.

You bared your soul. Exposed your most intimate, most vulnerable feelings. Laid your heart out on a silver platter like an offering for a sacrifice.

You might as well have shoved a knife through it.

"Go ahead," you said in a small voice. "Laugh." It would — you hoped — hurt less if it looked as if it were your idea. If you gave her permission. "Get it over with."

After all, love was weakness.

She'd made herself clear on that.

Rowena looked at you as if you'd just sprouted a pair of horns. "Why in hell would I do that?"

_Because I'm a fucking scaredy cat!_

"Love is weakness, right?" You gave a bitter laugh. "God, I'm so stupid."

She grabbed your shoulders. Dug her thin, tiny fingers into your coat. "You are not stupid. I don't ever want to hear you say that again! Do you understand me?"

Her gaze was intense, focused. Honest as her words.

"It's true I used to think love was weakness. But, as you know yourself, things change."

You turned your head, avoiding her eyes as more tears fell from yours.

 _"You_ made me change." There was softness in her voice, a gentleness that made warmth swell inside of you. "I'm not the same person I was a few months ago, and I owe that to you. Your friendship made me see there was more to life than popularity. I was a horrible person, and you were still kind to me. You gave me a chance."

You willed yourself to face her. "You deserved it."

"I didn't," she said, utterly sure of it, "but you still gave it to me. You allowed me to redeem myself. You were there for me even when I chased you away. You looked out for me."

You shrugged. "It's what friends do."

"Aye. You were my friend. My first true friend." She swallowed a breath for courage. "And then you became something more. I thought the feelings I had for Lucifer were love, or something of that nature, but I know now it was nothing but infatuation."

Your mind was in panic mode. Thoughts a jumbled mess. Breathing hitched, ragged.

"What are you saying?"

Rowena smiled, big and wide and warm. Happy and honest and bright as sunshine. "I'm saying, you silly girl, that I love you, as well."

It was as if ground had opened down from under you, about to swallow you whole.

If only it would.

Your legs were jelly, knees trembling. You didn't dare take a step, make a single move, for fear of tumbling down like a sack of potatoes.

She loved you.

Rowena MacLeod — queen, goddess, the love of your life — loved you.

Jesus _fucking_ Christ, she loved you!

You wanted to jump out of your skin.

It sure felt like you were about to for your body was on fire and your skin was too tight and your clothes were suffocating you and you couldn't breathe and—

Relax.

You had to relax.

Take it easy.

Only, you couldn't, and the more you tried, the more you felt like you were dying.

At least you would die happy.

"I didn't think it possible, but I do," Rowena said. "I love you, and I am not going anywhere."

Her gaze intensified, daring you to disagree, to counter her, to put up a fight.

You could barely hold yourself together.

A breeze brushed past you, cold, chilly; you barely felt it, your body engulfed in warmth, blood hot as lava.

Something wet landed on your cheek. You looked up, mouth falling agape at the sight of snowflakes drifting in the air. One after the other, they fell, glided, danced, slow at first, then faster. Bright and white under the dim light of streetlamps, glittering like fairies.

This winter's first snow.

Mouth curling into a smile, you willed yourself to lock eyes with Rowena. "You promise?" Your voice was soft, quiet.

She heard you more than well. "Aye. You're stuck with me." A chuckle. "If you wish so."

Daydreaming those exact words coming out of her mouth was nothing compared to the real thing.

"You have no idea!"

If it were up to you, you would never part from her again.

"Then there's no point in torturing ourselves, is there?" Rowena said.

And then her lips were on yours, and she was kissing you, and any response you were about to utter was thrown to the wind.

She tasted like mint and honey and everything nice. Like love and warmth and promises. You drank her in, gave yourself away to the sensations that swept over you, that swallowed you whole. Still as a statue, you let her lead, let her do as she pleased.

You were hers now.

Truly, irrevocably hers.

Rowena deepened the kiss, her hands gripping your shoulders tighter. You wrapped your arms around her waist and pulled her closer against you as you kissed back just as ferociously, giving as good as you were getting. She moaned into your mouth, which prompted you to kiss harder.

You parted for a moment, both gasping for breath, breathing in deep and fast. Your eyes met and you laughed, happy, united.

"Don't you dare ignore me again," she warned playfully.

"You said it yourself — I'm stuck with you," you said. "And _you're_ stuck with me."

Forever, if you had a say in it.

"Poor wee me."

"Indeed."

Your lips connected again, and this time you held on for longer, pressed against one another, lost in each other's warmth.

Snow kept falling, and you kept kissing. As if it were a competition neither of you planned on losing.

You kissed and kissed and kissed.

Forever, it seemed.

And ever.

And ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited by miss-moon-guardian.


	28. Public Affairs

The idea of walking into school hand in hand with Rowena was terrifying, yet it was exactly what you did.

The two of you had discussed it in detail last night. Following your kissing session, you'd gone back to Wonderland, reclaimed your table, ordered some more delicious tea to thaw off the cold in your bones, and talked this thing you had through.

It was still, even with a night of sleep later, hard to believe it really was a thing. That it wasn't some elaborate joke, or a daydream, or a strangely vivid dream.

You and Rowena together.

 _Together_ together.

A couple.

The mere memory of it, of her lips on yours, of her hand gripping yours up until you departed sent your nerves into overdrive.

You'd talked about school. About everything that had happened — with Lucifer, with your friends. Questioned whether it would be safe to be open about your relationship — your _relationship!_ — with all the rumors going around. All the while your hands remained linked, fingers a tight knot.

The decision was to go public.

If anyone had objections, they were free to talk to your fist.

You'd waited so long for this. Spent weeks dreaming about it, thinking up wild fantasies. Now that she was finally yours — now that you knew she felt the same, that she loved you just as much as you loved her — you weren't going to hide her.

Just the opposite — as much as you were nervous about other kids' reactions, you wanted nothing but to show her off.

Let the world see what a gorgeous girlfriend you had.

Let them be angry.

Let them be jealous.

She was yours and you were hers and if anyone had an issue with that — well, tough luck.

You walked into school hand in hand. The usual gossipers threw glances and whispered among themselves. A few kids chuckled. A couple uttered words that didn't belong in the twenty first century, which you pretended not to hear.

Nobody was going to ruin this day for you.

Especially not some asshole nobodies.

Every time you noticed someone's reaction, you tightened your hold on Rowena's hand. A silent promise that you were here, that you were in this together. A reminder that you loved her with everything you had.

She squeezed back each time in wordless reciprocation.

Your friends were there already, including Crowley, whom Rowena was certain would, at the very least, miss the first few periods. He'd left home an hour early, with apparent plans to go out for coffee. Which, in his case, usually meant he was going to drink. And cut school.

Guess miracles did happen.

But then, you thought as you looked down to your and Rowena's linked hands, you would know all about it.

It was Dean who brought it up after you'd all exchanged greetings, in as blunt way as possible. Cutting right to the chase because he was Dean Winchester and he had neither time nor patience for equivocation.

"Why are you holding hands?"

All eyes turned to you and Rowena as if you were circus freaks.

It was unnerving.

Your cheeks burned.

"Am I not allowed to hold my girlfriend's hand?" Rowena said a tad too smugly than necessary. Her mouth was curled into a smirk, and a devilish glint sparkled in her eyes.

You cursed yourself for finding it sexy.

"Girlfriend?" Crowley said in disbelief.

Dean was equally flabbergasted. "I'm sorry — what?" A nervous smile flickered on his mouth. "You're kidding, right?" He turned to you. "Tell me she's kidding."

Clearing your throat and sucking in a deep breath for courage, you uttered, "She's not. We-we're together."

"Damn, you're moving fast," Meg said, impressed. "Congrats!"

Sam, blushing, said, "Congratulations. Glad you went for it."

"You knew?" Dean asked in the tone of someone who'd just been betrayed.

"I had my suspicions." Sam smirked, earning him an appreciative wink from Rowena.

"This is bloody marvelous!" Crowley exclaimed dramatically in true Crowley fashion. He glared at you. "You didn't just let her dig her claws in — you dug yours right back like a madwoman! I told you this would happen! I bloody told you!"

You rolled your eyes. "Jesus, Crowley! We're dating. She didn't kill me."

"There's hardly a difference!"

"Save it for the stage, Fergus," Rowena said.

He ignored her. "Don't come crying to me when she rips your heart out and stomps on it."

"You got it."

"Or when she sells your soul to the devil for a pair of shoes."

"You've made yourself clear."

His remarks were annoying, but at least he wasn't angry. He didn't look like he wanted to punch a wall, Or you and Rowena.

Like Dean did.

It was something.

"Don't listen to him, darling," Rowena said. "He's just jealous."

Crowley looked offended. "Of you? Have you seen yourself?"

"Have you?"

"You and Rowena are in a relationship?" Castiel asked, tilting his head to the side like a confused puppy. "Like Meg and I?"

"Yup!" you beamed.

You wished you could shout it from the rooftops.

"That's… unexpected."

Maybe.

Though, to be fair, unlike Sam, Castiel wasn't the most attentive person.

In fact, he was the least attentive person you knew.

He smiled. "I'm happy for you."

There!

That wasn't so hard, now was it?

Dean and Crowley should look up to him.

"I can't believe this," Dean said, shaking his head.

You shot him a glare, a razor sharp one that threatened death. "If you've got something to say, say it."

His tone, as well as the look on his face, sour and disgusted, said enough, but you wanted — _needed —_ to hear him say it out loud. It was only fair; as your friend, he owed you the courtesy of being honest.

You knew he wasn't Rowena's biggest fan. Far from it. Out of everyone in your group, he liked her the least — if at all. As far as you knew, she hadn't done anything to him. She had a past, but then, who didn't? It was behind her. She was a good friend to Sam, and to you, and, for the sixteen hours you were together, she was a great girlfriend.

Dean had a right to dislike her, but he had no right to make her out to be a monster.

"Fine." He looked you in the eyes. When he spoke, his tone was loud and clear, deliberately sharp to get his point across, "I think you're making a mistake. I think this—" his face twisted as he spat the word _"—relationship_ is a pile of shit."

Wow.

Okay.

You hadn't expected _that,_ but okay.

"Dean!" Sam chastised, shooting him his signature bitchface.

It was fine.

You could deal with him all on your own, though Sam's support made your heart swell with warmth.

It was situations like this that made you realize who your true friends were.

"I think _you're_ a pile of shit, but you don't hear me complaining!" you retorted, putting on a brave face. Pretending his words didn't hurt while your heart was ripped to shreds and tears pricked at your eyes with threats of spilling like a downpour.

"You wanted it straight. I gave it to you," Dean said. "You know what she's like. She's using you. She's using all of you."

"Dean, that's enough!" Sam snapped.

"No! I'm sick of pretending I'm okay with this. I don't want her here. I don't want her anywhere near me. I'm certainly never gonna be her friend."

"Believe me, Winchester, the feeling is mutual!" Rowena fired. Her face was neutral, an emotionless blank, but you could tell his words hurt her. She was better at pretend than you; had perfected it over the years. "Hanging out with a Neanderthal like you is hardly the highlight of my day."

"Glad we got that sorted," Dean said sarcastically.

"You're overthinking this, dude," Meg said.

"Am I? You forget the crowd she hung out with? For all we know, she could be their spy!

"That's enough, Dean," Crowley, of all people, warned.

He wasn't his sister's biggest fan, but he was there when the truth came to light. He knew what those _people_ — if they could even be called that — had done to her. He knew how they'd treated her.

Dean was his friend, but Rowena was family.

There were lines he couldn't let him cross.

Dean sighed. "I know she's your sister, but it's true. Who knows what she's up to? And now this-this _relationship."_ Another sour face. As if the disgust in his tone thick enough to be cut through with a knife wasn't clear enough. "I don't trust her."

"Good thing you aren't the one dating her, then," you said. _"I_ am. And I trust her."

You put an arm around Rowena's waist in emphasis. Rage stirred inside you, roiled and twisted and turned like a destructive storm. You'd expected this kind of behavior from Lucifer and Olivette's minions. From gossip-hungry vultures and bored kids with no lives of their own. Not your own friend.

You knew Dean didn't like Rowena. It was his right; you had no intention of trying to force him to change his mind. But that didn't mean he got to be hostile. It didn't give him the right to throw out false accusations and tell outright lies.

"If you don't," you said, "that's fine. Think whatever you want. But I am _not_ going to let you treat her like shit!"

He chuckled; a smug, bitter sound. You wanted to wipe it off with your fist. "You're the last person I thought would go for a skank. My brother, I had some suspicions. But you? You hated her."

You never did.

You disliked her, greatly so, but it had never crossed into the level of hate.

Even back then, despite the way she was, you knew she didn't deserve it.

Rowena MacLeod was far from a saint, but even at her worst, she'd never warranted hate.

"Don't make me warn you again, Dean," Crowley said.

If anyone else spoke that way about his sister, especially after everything that had happened, they would get a quick and free face lift.

"Oh, she's a skank? Big words coming from someone plowing his way through the cheer team!" you snapped. "How many you got left until you've, ah, caught 'em all?"

If Dean was fazed by your response, he didn't show it. "You know what I meant!"

"Right. She's a big, bad witch-bitch who cast a spell on me and turned me to the dark side." If she were one, she wouldn't have to cast any spells. You would have joined her willingly. "I just got to know her, Dean. That's all. Maybe if you bothered to try, you wouldn't be spewing this bullshit."

"I know enough."

You thought the same, until you saw her other side.

Then you fell in love.

"And I've had enough," Dean said. "I can't be around her."

A shake of his head, and then his back was turned, and he was lost in the sea of students crowding the hall.

He was gone.

Just like that.

_Seriously?_

You were pissed at him, but your heart still clenched with pain.

This semester was supposed to be a new beginning. A start of something beautiful, something happy.

Instead, you lost a friend.

And for what? Misunderstanding? Prejudice? Hate?

You thought Dean was better than that.

After all, he was far from a sunshine himself.

Maybe it was for the best, you told yourself. You loved Dean, you did, but you loved Rowena more. After everything she'd gone through, she didn't deserve his scorn, his distrust.

You'd made her a promise to keep her safe.

Maybe letting go of Dean was making good on it.

"What in hell just happened?" Rowena said, shaking you from your thoughts.

"Dean… Dean left," Sam said, not believing it himself.

"No offense, dude," Meg said, "but your brother's fucked up."

Sam gulped.

He didn't disagree.

Neither did you.

"He's off his rocker," Crowley said. "A bloody madman."

"He did seem a bit unstable," Castiel said. "It's probably hormones." Everyone turned to him. "We learned about it in Biology class. Males—"

"Stop talking," Meg — bless her heart — ordered.

He instantly shut his mouth.

"Good riddance," you said, and meant it. If Dean was going to be a baby and throw tantrums, he deserved a time out.

Sam's face fell. "I'm sorry about him."

"It's not your fault."

"I'll talk to him."

You doubted it would do much, but you appreciated it. Dean could be a stubborn cookie when he wanted to.

Sam laid a hand on Rowena's shoulder, apologetic. "I'm really sorry."

"I'm a big girl, Samuel. I've dealt with worse," she told him. Then, with an appreciative smile, she added, "But thank you."

He nodded.

"You guys wanna go to Biggerson's to celebrate?" Meg offered, trying to lighten the mood.

It worked, if only a bit.

"Sure," you said, though you weren't quite in the mood for celebration. Dean made sure of that.

Today was supposed to be your big, happy day.

You'd expected a dramatic tantrum from Crowley, and maybe a few sour comments from Dean.

Not baseless accusations.

Not hate.

Not heartbreak.

"I don't see why not," Rowena said, putting on a big smile.

You smiled back.

She deserved some good.

Sam, Castiel, and Crowley (albeit, in his case, begrudgingly) agreed as well, and so it was decided.

As soon as school was done, Biggerson's, here you came!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited by miss-moon-guardian.


	29. Close Encounters

The atmosphere with Dean Winchester's absence was strange, or so Rowena thought. After all, she'd only been acquainted with the group for a short while. Though, she could tell, despite everyone's efforts to act as if nothing was wrong, something clearly was.

They missed him.

You missed him.

You acted as if you didn't, but Rowena saw right through you. You were angry at him for being mean to her. You resented him for it. Maybe you even thought you hated him. But, underneath it all, you missed him.

The day after he'd walked away Rowena had taken you aside, swallowed up her her pride, and apologized.

As much as she wanted to deny it, she felt guilty. Your friend group had functioned for years without an issue. Then she came along, and one of you had walked away.

He was a petty bastard, but Rowena didn't — couldn't — blame him for disliking her.

With her history, she wouldn't trust herself, either.

She'd made her bed, she supposed. Now she had to lie in it.

She'd spent years hanging around bad people, working alongside them, acting as one of them. She'd joined in on bullying, despicable as she'd found it. She'd gossiped and lied and destroyed without a care in the world.

Consequences were a bitch.

"It's not your fault," you'd told her, and she could tell you were honest. "You didn't do anything wrong. Dean's an asshole."

He was.

Then again, she had basically invaded his territory, his safe place.

It was only natural he felt threatened.

Days went on, and your assurance remained.

Rowena hadn't done anything wrong.

You really loved her. She didn't know how it happened or why, but somehow she'd managed to get you to fall in love with her, and you were in deep.

In public, you always clung to her. Either your hand held hers, fingers in a tight knot, or your arm was thrown around her. A sign, loud and clear, that she was yours and yours only.

When you were alone, you couldn't stop kissing her. Her lips, cheeks, or knuckles; whichever part of her was nearest, you pressed your lips to it. A silent, wordless confession of love.

Rowena basked in it all. She drank in the attention, chased it like a high.

Gilroy had never loved her like this.

Lucifer hadn't even tried.

She was an impossibly lucky girl.

"See you after school?" you asked as the bell rang to sign the end of lunch.

"Shall we go to Wonderland?" Rowena suggested. As fun as hanging out with your friends — _her_ friends, something she still couldn't wrap her head around — at Biggerson's for the past week was, she wanted some quiet. A wee bit of alone time. Just the two of you; no people to stare, no siblings to interrupt.

"Sure!"

You flashed her a smile, and, before she could reciprocate, your lips were on hers in a swift, soft kiss.

Another thing she liked about you — you were always gentle with her. You never grabbed her, never pulled her in for a kiss forcefully. When you held her, you were loving, careful. Your kisses were tender, and you showered her with them whenever you could.

Rowena had never had that before.

She'd never been… _loved._

"Sucks that we don't have any classes together today," you said with a pout.

It was ridiculously cute, not that Rowena would ever say it out loud.

Instead, she said, "I know. However will you survive?"

You lightly slapped her hand, prompting her to put on a pout of her own that she could tell made you melt. You weren't one to say it out loud, either, but your face was clear enough. There wasn't much, in terms of emotion, that you could hide from her.

"You tease, but I'm really having a hard time being away from you," you said. "You're sorta addictive."

"Maybe it's a good thing we're apart, then. You don't want to overdose."

"Says who?"

You kissed her again, longer this time. You tasted like heaven, like love and warmth and everything she ever wanted but never had until now. Rowena melted into the sensation. She wanted to stay like this forever; with you, your hands gently holding on to her shoulders, your warmth spilling into her, consuming her, embracing her.

"In that case," she said as you parted, mouth tingling where yours touched it, nerves on fire, "I shall look for you during the next break. Mustn't let you to suffer withdrawals."

"That's more like it! See ya!"

You squeezed her hand in emphasis, then ran into the retreating crowd. Rowena remained in her place, still as a statue. She looked after you, at your back that disappeared in the sea of students rushing to get back to class. Her hand was on fire; it pulsated as if a heart were beating underneath it, your touch still lingering, a ghost on her skin.

You were hers.

Her friend.

Her lover.

Her _girl._

It still felt like a dream, as if she would wake up anytime now and find herself laying beside Lucifer, body blooming with bruises, tear-smeared mascara staining her face.

_No!_

This was real.

 _You_ were real.

She swore on her life, on her damned, rotten soul, to never do anything to lose you.

* * *

Everything went as planned. The two of you met up for every break, talking a bit, complaining about the boring classes and unfair teachers.

It felt nice.

It felt normal.

Normal was something Rowena hadn't had in a while. Olivette usually badmouthed one person or another. Lucifer joined in, made jokes that weren't funny and laughed at them, all the while keeping a firm arm around Rowena, as if someone would steal her if he were to remove it.

Rowena used to think it was sweet. He was just being protective. A tad too much, perhaps, but it was all for her good. He was just showing her off, showing the world that he had her and they didn't. A lover straight out of a historical romance novel; possessive, but in a way that was romantic rather than disgusting.

_Right._

Rowena wanted to laugh at her stupidity.

Lucifer never loved her; she doubted he was even capable of the emotion.

He most likely never even liked her.

She was excellent in bed. She let him use and abuse her, and gave him whatever he wanted without a single word of protest. He didn't even have to ask.

He saw a chance, and he took it.

He took advantage.

And she let him.

She stupidly let him.

All because she wanted what he had.

 _Well, fuck popularity,_ she thought. It had brought her nothing but trouble.

She'd been surrounded by people, yet she was alone.

She'd had a boyfriend, yet she wasn't loved, wasn't cherished and cared for.

She'd had nothing.

All the power she'd thought she had was borrowed.

It was never hers.

Nothing was.

Until you.

Rowena replayed that thought as she trudged through the crowd of students. It was the recess before the last period; five minutes before another — thankfully final — boring hour. History. She loved the subject, but she loved you more.

She couldn't wait for the final bell to ring so the two of you could make yourselves at home at Wonderland and put the school day behind you.

The relationship was still fresh. Still new and bright and shiny, and Rowena didn't want to waste a minute of it.

After so many hardships, she was finally happy.

She wanted nothing but to make the best of it.

"Where you going, Red?"

The voice stood out amongst the noise of the crowd like a nail running over the chalkboard, squeaky and loud and nauseating.

Rowena froze, limbs falling still as a statue. As if her flesh had suddenly turned to marble. A knot formed in her stomach; it twisted tightly, almost made her double over in pain.

_No._

She kept her head up. Kept it high up and proud. The picture of strength.

He didn't get to make her submit.

He didn't get to have that much power — any power — over her.

She wasn't his plaything anymore.

Lucifer stood before her like he used to so many times before. The smile she used to find so lovely, that now made her want to vomit, was wide and bright on his mouth. He was still handsome, still good-looking, but, looking at him now, he didn't stand out much.

He was a boy, just like any other in this school.

Nothing special, really.

Just a boy who thought too much of himself and too little of others.

Rowena swallowed a lump that had formed at the back of her throat. A blink, and she was back in his room; his hands were on her neck, his fists rained down on her face, his heavy-soled feet rammed into her ribs. His face was in hers, and his words were daggers ripping into her, tearing her apart from the inside out.

Punch.

Kick.

Scream.

Rinse and repeat.

"Move," she spat, willing herself back to reality. Squeezing her fists tight to anchor herself.

It was in the past.

What he'd done to her, how he'd hurt her — it was all in the past.

Her wounds had healed. She had new friends. She had a girlfriend that gave a damn about her, who loved her for who she was. Who wasn't going to take advantage of her when she was at her weakest.

The memories still hurt, but they were just that — memories.

They weren't real.

Not anymore.

Lucifer ignored her. "I hear you've got a girlfriend," he said smugly.

Rowena wished she could wipe that bloody smile with her fist — or the thin, sharp heel of her shoe. _Who hasn't?_ she thought. The entire damn school knew about the two of you.

Word traveled fast here.

Especially if you happened to be a redeemed mean girl.

Gossipers loved a good redemption story!

"It's none of your bloody business!" she snapped. He may have been playing nice, but she was way past that point. The devilish smile couldn't charm her anymore.

Lucifer put his hands up. "Relax. I come in peace."

Rowena snorted. He wouldn't know peace if it slapped him in the face.

"I'm just curious about your new… _relationship."_

_Curious, my arse!_

He'd come to harass, to bully, to hurt.

Rowena wasn't born yesterday. She knew him; she knew his kind, knew how they operated, how they ticked. There was never a _just_ with them.

They always had an ulterior motive.

"Y/N good to you?"

The question was as smug as his smile. Rhetorical, but she couldn't resist replying, "Much better than you."

If it bothered him, he didn't show it. Instead, he pressed a hand to his heart dramatically. "Ouch. You wound me, babe."

"I am _not_ your babe."

Not anymore.

Never again.

"Moved on quite quickly, haven't you?"

It wasn't quite as easy, but he didn't need to know that. "What can I say? Some people are more forgettable than others."

If only she could forget him.

If only she could erase all he'd put her through — the abuse, the manipulation — from her brain.

"Right. Is that why you look so scared?" She gulped as he said it, swallowed a breath. Lucifer chuckled. "I bet you still dream about me."

She'd had a nightmare or two; nothing she couldn't handle. They were long behind her. "Don't flatter yourself."

"Oh, but I know you, Rowena," Lucifer said, so damn sure of himself. "I know you still think about me."

"You know nothing!" she snapped.

"Still a firecracker, I see. That's my girl!"

"I am not your girl!" She was offended by the mere suggestion.

"You'll always be my girl," he said. "What we had doesn't just go away."

Och, it did.

It went away the second she turned her back on him and ran into your arms.

There was no more Rowena and Lucifer. No more power-couple. All that remained of them were memories; awful, painful, regretful.

"I bet she doesn't do it as well as I do," Lucifer said. "She doesn't have the _means."_

Rowena wanted to laugh. That was where he was going? Seriously? "Goodness, you really are pathetic!"

"Am I? Or are you just projecting? We both know the V has nothing on the D."

Laughter exploded from her mouth. "Darling, your D has nothing on a cheap dildo."

Not quite true, but the remark did its job. Lucifer narrowed his eyes, mouth tight, forehead vein popping. "You're a whore."

Was that the best he could come up with?

"All that talk about friendship, when in reality, you were fucking her behind my back." He stepped forward. Got in her face. His warm breath on her skin made bile rise up to her throat.

The last time he was this close, he had hit her. He had hit her and beat her and marked her for days — _weeks —_ to come.

That was then, Rowena reminder herself. This was now. He wouldn't dare pull anything like that in front of so many people. He was quite a traditional boy, in that regard. All closed doors and a nice boy facade. Mustn't let the neighbors see.

Didn't make her feel any better. Didn't make the fear in her bones, cold as the snow-coated streets outside, fade away.

He may not have been able to do anything physically, but he still had his second best weapon — his tongue, sharp enough to hurt, to main, to rip apart.

"I wish I was," Rowena said, holding her ground. Her hands balled into fists, knuckles taut, sheet-white. Her conscience was clear; she was a lot of things, but a cheater was not one of them. "Maybe I would have realized what rubbish you are sooner."

"Takes one to know one, babe," Lucifer said with a shrug because of course he did. What else would he say?

Rowena wasn't one to back away from a challenge. "Is that why you still believe I cheated? Projection is a hell of a drug."

"That was different." Of course it was. "I _loved_ you."

She snorted. "I doubt you even know what the word means."

"Okay, you got me there," he said, the corners of his mouth curling into a smirk. "So I didn't love you. Can you blame me? I mean, look at you. Who in their right mind could love… _that?"_

Rowena swallowed. Once. Twice. Three times. He was a colossal bastard, but she couldn't deny the truth in his words. Who could love someone like her? Someone so cold, so dead inside, walking through the world with an iron mask on her face?

Who would dare love someone like that?

You.

You did.

You dared to try, and you grew fond of her.

You fell in love with her.

The first person in… how long was it?

The first person _ever._

Maybe that was her fault. She hadn't exactly made it easy for people to get close to her. She pretended and lied and pushed away anyone who dared step too close.

She wasn't the easiest person to love.

Impossible, almost.

But, she knew with her entire being, from the depths of her soul, she didn't deserve what Lucifer had done to her. She didn't deserve to be cheated on and abused. She didn't deserve to be betrayed.

The relationship they'd had was toxic from the start, but the blame wasn't solely on her.

"Still, what we had was special," Lucifer added. "You can't deny that."

Rowena certainly thought it was special.

At the time.

She knew better now.

That relationship had potential for greatness, but it never got to blossom.

"It was a waste of a year of my life," she said, urging — pleading — her voice to remain steady, not to break under the pressure.

"You say that like you could've done better. We both know that's not true. I _made_ you, Rowena."

As if she hadn't heard that one before. It still hurt as much as the first time. She grit her teeth. "Is this the part where you say you can ruin me? At least do me a courtesy of being original, will you? Because this is getting tedious."

"Oh, I can do more than that." His voice was slick as poison. Deadly to the core. Shivers spilled down her spine. "You don't get to ruin my life and get away with it."

Another fit of laughter escaped her mouth. "I ruined _your_ life?"

He had some nerve to even suggest that.

He'd hurt her so much, and somehow — by some insane troll logic — she was the one at fault?

"You almost killed me!" she snapped.

"Oh, don't be so dramatic!"

"Dramatic? I could barely walk! It took me _weeks_ to heal!"

"And whose fault was that?" he retorted. "If you weren't running around with that dyke behind my back, ruining my reputation, none of that would've been necessary!"

Necessary?

That was his excuse — he'd beaten her within an inch of her life because it was _necessary?_

He stepped forwards. She backed away. He kept going, kept advancing on her until her back slammed into the wall. Hig big, massive body towered over her. He pressed his hands to the wall on either side of her, trapping her, caging her like an animal.

Rowena's heart raced. Panic shot through her, flooded her veins, sent her nerves into overdrive. He wouldn't hit her. Right? Not here. Not now. He wouldn't dare.

Only, he totally would.

He was Lucifer Shurley. Charming. Charismatic. Popular. The principal's son.

Rules didn't apply to boys like him.

"Get away from me!" Rowena found it in her to bark.

He ignored her. "I see you're still at it. I won't let you get away with it. You don't get to throw me away for a nobody."

Yet, that was exactly what she did.

Happily so. _Proudly._

And she would do it again in a heartbeat.

"Fuck you!" she told him, looking him straight in the eyes. She tried to push him away, only for him to smack her hands away. A small girl like her was no match for a giant like him.

"You're adorable," he said condescendingly.

She wanted to spit in his face.

She was about to, when a familiar, unexpected voice said, "What's going on here?"

Dean Winchester, in the flesh. Looking like he wanted to punch something (or someone). His usual mode.

Rowena met his eyes in a silent, wordless plea. _Get him away,_ her glance said. _Please._ Pathetic, but what else did she have left? She couldn't get rid of Lucifer on her own. Couldn't free herself. Couldn't do anything other than feign strength that had left her the moment he blocked her way.

She hoped with everything she had that Dean understood.

If he was here to gloat, to throw more accusations…

"Just old lovers having a nice, little chit-chat," Lucifer said, the charming, thousand-watt smile back on his mouth.

Dean wasn't fooled. "Really? And she's okay with that?"

"Why wouldn't she be?"

Lucifer hand brushed against the top of her head in a caress.

Rowena flinched.

"You okay with that, Rowena?"

She shook her head.

That was enough for Dean. He took a step forward, menacing, face serious as death. "Right. How about you step away?"

Lucifer immediately put his hands up in surrender. "Wow, wow, okay! Chill, dude. No need to be so serious. We were just talking. Honest."

Rowena scurried away, putting as much distance between them as possible. Dean stepped in front of her. He was tall, looming, a protective statue she felt strangely safe with. She didn't trust him — she didn't _like_ him, and the feeling was very mutual — but she knew he wouldn't hurt her. That wasn't his way.

She'd heard stories about him. He went through girls like laundry. Bedded everything female with a pulse that gave him the time of the day. Stole hearts and broke them all the same.

They all had one thing in common — he respected the girls he'd been with. Not a single one had a complaint about his behavior. Those he didn't sleep with held him in high regard, thought him one of the good jocks.

Dean Winchester was a lot of things, but he respected girls.

He wouldn't let something happen to Rowena, no matter how much he hated her.

Or so she liked to think.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Aye," she replied. Shaken up, but she'd had worse.

"She doesn't wanna talk to you," he said.

"It _was_ kinda a one sided conversation," Lucifer conceded. "A monologue, really. For the most part. But it was fun! I swear."

"I told you to leave me alone," Rowena said. "You're not supposed to be talking to me."

He wasn't supposed to be anywhere near her.

That was the arrangement her mother had made with the principal.

Rowena had declined to press charges for the abuse, and her mother had made it clear that, if Lucifer were to come anywhere near her daughter, those charges _would_ be filed. Rowena had readily agreed to that arrangement. She didn't want to deal with the police and the court; all she'd wanted was to forget, to move on, to heal and start anew. To get away from it all for she was still reeling from the revelations she'd been given and it was too much — way too much — and too soon.

"You gonna tell your mommy on me?" Lucifer said in a childish voice.

"I will send you to bloody prison!" Rowena snarled.

A few heads turned amidst the rush to classes, the bell seconds from ringing. She glared at each and every one of them, urging them to run away. She wasn't in the mood for another public drama.

"Ooh, I'm terrified," Lucifer taunted.

"Why don't you take a hike?" Dean said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

"Come on, man! That's harsh!" Lucifer whined at the same time as the bell sounded. "On second thought, you're right. I _should_ get going." He grinned, then winked at Rowena. "See ya later, Red. This isn't over."

She let out a long, hard breath she'd been holding as he walked away.

As far as she was concerned, it _was_ over. She had no intentions of talking to him again. If he were to pull the same stunt, she was ready to make good on her mother's threat.

Lucifer Shurley had no business being anywhere near her personal space.

She didn't want him there.

She wasn't interested in his stories or his little threats.

He was her past, a history as tragic and awful as any other.

It wouldn't be repeated.

Never again.

"You sure you're okay?" Dean asked, shaking her to reality. She looked up to find his eyes on her; looking her over, scanning every inch of her. Concern was etched into his stern face, imprinted in his skin like a permanent tattoo.

Was he genuinely worried?

Or was this part of his good boy reputation?

"Aye," Rowena said again. "He didn't do anything."

He nodded, relieved.

"Rowena! Hey — what's going on?"

You were suddenly there, emerging from a crowd with a book in your arms. You stared at her, then at Dean, suspicion crawling over your face like a shadow.

A rush of relief swept over Rowena at your presence.

Things were okay.

She was okay.

Everything was okay now that you were here.

Her lips widened into a smile. Yours returned it, albeit nervously, confused.

"Yes, I was just—" Rowena started to explain, only to be cut off by Dean.

"Lucifer was here."

You blinked. "Lucifer?" The implication dawned on you. "Oh, my god! Are you okay?"

"I am," Rowena assured you, taking your hands — warm, loving — into hers. Your fingers squeezed as if your life depended on it. "He was just being Lucifer. Talking nonsense."

"Did he hurt you?" Your tone made it clear he would regret it if he did.

Rowena didn't doubt it. She shook her head. "No. He just talked. Made threats. The usual."

"What kind of threats?"

She sighed. "He said this isn't over."

"The hell it isn't! We should go to the principal right now."

"And tell him what? That his son was mean to me?" She scoffed. "Let it go. It's not worth it."

Your expression softened. "He doesn't get to do that to you."

Goodness, you loved her! You loved her so much. She could see it in your face, could hear it in the softness of your words.

What did she do to deserve that?

What did she do to deserve _you?_

"If he does it again, I will report, okay?" Rowena suggested.

"Fine," you conceded. "So long as you're okay."

"I am. I promise." She pecked you on the mouth to prove it, earning her a big, happy grin. "I'm not made of glass, Y/N."

"I know," you told her. "But, as your girlfriend, it's my duty to look after you."

"Shall I start paying you to guard me?" she teased.

You chuckled. "Totally. I should start charging my bodyguard services."

"Hey," Dean said, breaking the banter. "I wanna say I'm sorry."

You scowled, not quite buying it. "Are you?"

"Yeah." It was just one word, but there was so much sincerity in it. So much genuine regret. "I shouldn't have said the things I said."

"You were a dick."

"I know."

"Out of line."

"I know." He swallowed. "Rowena, I was wrong about you. I'm sorry."

Rowena nodded, offering a smile. He'd been a colossal numbnut, but she understood his suspicions. If someone had told her she would join your group of friends and abandon hers a couple of months ago, she would have laughed in their face.

Her redemption, so to speak, was fast. The others had adjusted quickly, but it was only natural Dean needed some time.

Granted, he could have handled it better. However, his apology seemed sincere, genuine.

If everyone could give her a chance, she didn't see why she couldn't give him one.

"I don't wanna hear anymore bullshit," you said firmly.

Dean nodded. "No more bullshit."

"Okay." You flashed him a smile, a big, bright one.

He reciprocated. A moment passed in silence, then he said, "I think we're all late to class."

Honestly, class was the last thing on Rowena's mind at the moment.

You seemed to share the sentiment. "Wanna cut?" you asked her.

"Naughty girl," she said with a wink. "I don't see why not."

It was the last class of the day, anyway.

The sooner the two of you got to Wonderland, the better.

"You guys have fun," Dean said.

"You're staying?" you asked, quirking up an eyebrow, disbelieving.

"I cut yesterday. And the day before." He grinned proudly. "Gotta stay a few times, right?"

You chuckled. "Enjoy."

"You know me. I _love_ school."

Right.

Same way as Rowena _loved_ her former friends. And knock-off shoes. And pork rinds.

The three of you said your goodbyes, and then you and her were out the door.

Hand in hand, headed for Wonderland.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited by miss-moon-guardian.


	30. History Repeating

As much as Lucifer's threat unsettled you (you'd taken it worse than Rowena, which was saying a lot), the following weeks went by in relative peace. January bled into February in what seemed like the blink of an eye. Too fast for comfort.

It was hard to believe you and Rowena had, at this point, been together for a month.

A whole month!

It felt like a fantasy. A dream you would wake up from anytime now and find yourself in the school's crowded hallways, alone, abandoned, while Rowena stood beside Lucifer, his arm possessively around her, and looked you in the eyes as she mumbled something — something about you — that made them both burst into laughter.

That wasn't her anymore.

She wasn't a bully.

She wasn't Lucifer's girlfriend.

She was yours.

It was still so surreal to call her that.

Yours.

Yours. Yours. Yours.

Rowena MacLeod was yours.

You made sure to kiss her every time you saw her to show her that. To emphasize this reality you, not that long ago, thought would never be.

As it turned out, Rowena was very receptive of affection. She always welcomed it. Always basked in it, reciprocated it. She took — drank, ate — but she also gave, and, god, did it make you love her even more.

Who would have thought such a tiny creature had so much love in her?

Who would have thought the heartless mean girl could be so sweet, so precious, so caring?

Books truly shouldn't be judged by their cover.

Though, you had to admit, Rowena's outside was just as appealing as her inside.

Attitude aside, she was gorgeous.

Her hair was fire personified. Her skin was flawless, a soft, delicate silk. She was covered in freckles from head to toe; they were adorable, precious, flecks of gold on her milky skin. Her eyes were an emerald forest you could get lost in.

The girl was a work of art.

And she was yours.

She had been, so far, for a month now, and, you hoped, for many more to come.

It was just another lazy day, no different from the others. Snowflakes glistened in the freezing air, falling one after the other. Covering the already snow-coated streets in a fresh, white layer.

You were in Rowena's room, curled up with her on the bed in front of her laptop. A blanket was thrown over your shoulders; the room was fairly warm, but huddling together was something you both enjoyed. Your intimate little heaven consisting of just the two of you, wrapped in each other's arms, hearts beating in sync.

The movie playing was some classic (it was Rowena's turn to choose) you weren't paying much attention to. You were preoccupied by kissing her, devouring her one little bit by bit. Your mouth was everywhere; on her lips, her cheeks, down to her neck. You couldn't get enough of her.

Rowena leaned into you. Her eyes were closed, remained so for as long as you kissed her. She let out little moans of pleasure that only made you kiss her more, that made you _want_ her more.

Her skin was soft under your touch. Tender. Warm. You held her as you marked it; peck by small peck to almost every inch of her neck.

Maybe one day you would be brave enough to bite.

"That's it, dear," Rowena whispered, and then her mouth was on yours, tongue breaking in.

She tasted like passion, like white-hot danger. A nightmare and a daydream all in one. As you parted, she captured your lower lip with hers and gently bit down. You twitched, startled, which prompted her to smirk like the naughty girl she was.

"Hey!" you warned half-heartedly. Though, surprisingly, you found yourself enjoying the sensation. It hurt, but…

It hurt good.

Pleasant.

You wanted her to do it again, preferably after she allowed you to mark her neck purple and blue.

"What?" Rowena said, blinking innocently.

You rolled your eyes, and, before she could utter a response, kissed her again.

Kissing was all the two of you seemed to be doing ever since you got together. As if, if you were to let go, to part, you would both succumb to death.

You couldn't get enough of each other.

Couldn't stay away for more than a few hours.

Your social media inboxes were full of conversations that sprawled well into the night.

The joys of new relationships.

People called it the honeymoon phase.

You hoped it lasted.

You never wanted to grow bored of her.

Rowena was a difficult person to love, but, god, once you started, you couldn't stop. You didn't want to stop.

She was far from perfect, yet she had it all.

Your perfect little imperfect girl.

You deepened the kiss, drowning yourself in Rowena. In the sweet, sweet taste of her lips that sent a wave of pleasure through you, that sent you into a high you never wanted to come down from.

Her hand slid to your waist. Slithered into the hem of your jeans just a tad, deep enough to tease. You hadn't gone all the way yet; it never seemed like the right time. It wasn't that you didn't want to have sex with her. You did, more than anything, but you wanted for the moment to be right, to be natural. You didn't want to force it.

There was more to a relationship than sex.

Sex that you were sure you would have soon, that you were looking forward to.

But, for now, teasing was just fine.

A familiar melody suddenly sounded, breaking the moment of perfection. You and Rowena parted, gasping for breath, annoyed at the interruption. With a roll of her eyes, she reached for her phone.

A glum, serious expression settled on her face as she read the message. Her brow furrowed. Mouth parted in a small O.

"What in hell is this?" she said, more to herself than as a question she wanted you to answer.

Curious, you asked, "What is it?"

She grit her teeth. Tightened her hold on the phone until her pale hand was white as snow. You leaned over to read the message, and you could tell it took everything in her to not pull the phone away and hide whatever it was that caused the sudden shift in her mood.

She trusted you with it.

Trusted you to respect her, to love her. To not hurt her anymore than she already was.

You clasped your hand over her free one in gratitude and squeezed it as a promise that it would be okay.

Whatever it was, the two of you could - _would —_ deal with it together.

You didn't recognize the number, but the words you read were enough to make your blood boil.

_Do me for $20? ;)_

"What the fuck?" Was this someone's idea of a joke? "Maybe it's just a wrong number."

You certainly hoped so.

Rowena shook her head. "It's _Lucifer."_ She spat his name like it was filth on her tongue.

"Is that his number?"

"No, but it must be him. Who else would it be? He probably lent a phone from one of his pals."

It made sense. It seemed like something Lucifer would do.

Was this his epic revenge? Rude text messages?

You had to admit you were disappointed.

You'd expected worse.

"Delete it and block the number," you told her. "And block his real number."

"I already have," she said and hurried to do the same for the number the message came from.

Just as she started typing, a new message popped up.

Rowena narrowed her eyes, aching, angry.

You took the phone with her, and, as you read the message, you had to refrain from throwing it against the wall.

_How much for an hour?_

It was sent from a different number, also unfamiliar.

What was going on?

Was Lucifer borrowing his friends' phones one by one just to annoy Rowena?

From the look on her face, it was working.

He, you realized with an ache swelling up in your heart, did more than just annoy her.

You clenched your free hand into a tight, painful fist. Anger flared inside you, hot as fire.

How dare he harass her?

After everything he'd put her through, how dare he disturb her again?

He had no right to even look at her.

"He's just messing with you," you said, more to yourself than her.

No sooner than the words had left your mouth, she received another message.

_Whore_

Rowena's pale face drained of the little color it had. Her eyes widened as if she'd seen a ghost.

As if she'd died and became a ghost herself.

The messages kept coming, one after the other, the melody chiming like a bell announcing death.

_U a hoe!!!_

_Slut!_

_Threesome? I can pay ;)_

_Kill urself!_

_You're gross._

_I wanna fuck ur brains out._

_So how much?_

_Want me some piece of that ass._

All came from different numbers.

No way was this Lucifer.

Unless he was an octopus, there was no way he was sending all these texts.

He may have initiated it — you suspected him of having done just that — but he was physically unable to have sent them all.

Rowena stared at the glowing screen. She stared and stared and stared, still, unmoving, as a statue. Tears spilled down her face like a river. Droplets dripped on the floor, on her sock-clad feet.

Her breathing remained steady. Face blank, all emotion drained along with color. Her hands were shaking. She buried them into her pants, curled her fingers around the fabric in attempts to mask it, but the trembling remained.

The messages kept coming, cruel and merciless as ever.

You threw the phone on the bed and, without a single word uttered, wrapped your arms around Rowena.

She remained still for a moment, letting you hold her. Melting into your embrace. Then, with a sniffle, her arms snaked around you, her face was in your chest, and she was bawling like a baby. Blood-curdling sobs ripped from her throat. You tightened your hold on her, keeping her close as she wailed like a banshee.

It was horrifying.

This wasn't how it was supposed to be.

Rowena wasn't supposed to be this hurt, this broken.

It wasn't fair!

"Shhhh," you whispered gently. "It's okay. You're okay."

"It's happening again," she whimpered.

"What, honey?"

"The messages. It's the same as it was back in Scotland."

Maybe so.

But this time, she wasn't alone.

She had allies.

She had friends.

She had a girlfriend who loved her and would stop at nothing to protect her.

Whoever these awful people were, they couldn't beat her down.

"It's gonna be okay," you assured her, though you knew these things hardly ever were. If they harassed her through messages, they'd most likely already spammed her social media sites.

There was a lot of work to do; a lot of hard, draining work.

But it wasn't impossible.

Rowena was a survivor, a fighter.

She would get through this.

The battle would damage her, but she would win the war.

"You're not alone anymore, remember?" you reminded her. "We'll kick their asses."

"They won't leave me alone," Rowena said through sobs.

"They will." Eventually. Cowards always gave up in the end. "You just gotta be patient. And strong. You can do that, right?"

She pulled away and gave a small, shaky nod. You brought your palms to her cheeks, cupping them with utmost tenderness, and, with a flash of an encouraging smile, pressed a kiss to her forehead.

"That's my girl!" you told her, and meant it. She'd come so far from the girl she was when you'd first — forcibly — started hanging out. You were blooming with pride.

The phone kept sounding the message melody that had, at this point, started to annoy you. What had Lucifer done? How many people had he put up to this?

There was, of course, a slight possibility that he was innocent of this particular crime, but you doubted it. He'd cornered Rowena in the hall and had made a threat.

"This isn't over," he'd said.

And now she was getting these messages.

It was too convenient to be a coincidence.

Rowena stared at her phone as it lit up one text after another. Frustrated, you grabbed it and pressed the button to turn it off.

"Now it won't bother you," you said, though you were just as bothered as she was. You hated that sound. Hated that flash. Hated the nasty words nestled on the screen. If that were your phone, you would have thrown it on the ground and stomped on it until it was in pieces.

She sighed, relieved, if only for a bit. It was something. Not much, but a progress of some kind. "I will need a new number."

You laid a hand on her shoulder, a soft, comforting gesture. She relaxed under your touch, tense muscles loosening.

They were harassing her, and she was the one who needed a new number.

She was the one in tears, the one who remembered the worst days of her life.

It wasn't fair.

It wasn't fucking fair!

"Could you do me a wee favour?" She asked after a few moments of silence.

"Of course." She didn't even have to ask.

"Could you check social media? If… if it's spread there."

The way she said it broke your heart into a million pieces.

"I will," you said, chest tightening with dread. More likely than not, her social media was full of comments similar to the messages she'd received. People like Lucifer rarely stopped at mere texts. He wanted to hurt her, wanted to ruin her, and what better way to do that than smear her reputation online, for the entire world to see?

You pressed a kiss to her cheek, and then got to work on your phone. Finding nasty comments in your own notifications shouldn't have surprised you, but your teeth still clenched to the point of pain as you read through them.

It was the usual trolls, quite alike the ones who'd messaged Rowena's phone. Asking you how much you'd paid to fuck her. Calling you her pimp. Saying so many nasty things you had to stop reading before you smashed your phone into pieces.

You would deal with them later.

You entered Rowena's profile, and, as expected, her posts were full of horrible comments. One after another, people made propositions, threw around outrageous claims and accusations. Boys wanted to fuck her, and they expressed it quite openly, in intricate detail. Girls, on the other hand, were full of hate, spewing out words such as _slut_ and _whore_ , and an occasional _cunt._

Rage burned through you. Your blood was saturated with it, muscles taut, free fist clenched so hard your nails bit into your skin.

They had no right to do this.

They had no right to harass her — to bully her — like this.

They had no fucking right!

You recognized some of the names. Olivette's little cronies — girls brimming with malice. Lucifer's buddies — disgusting, sweaty jocks who couldn't get any so they took it out on Rowena. Gossip-hungry vultures. People who were mean for the sake of being mean.

"How bad is it?" Rowena asked. She didn't dare look at the screen, eyes staring straight ahead into the opposite wall. Body stiff as a statue.

You couldn't blame you. If it were happening to you, you wouldn't want to see anything, either. "Bad," you replied. No point in sugarcoating it. She'd been through this already. She knew how it worked.

She swallowed. Gave a nod. "It _is_ Lucifer?"

"I see his and Olivette's friends commenting. Just a moment."

You looked up Lucifer's profile and scowled at the newest post.

_Talked to my skanky ex's former classmate, the lovely Catriona Loughlin. Rowena apparently likes to, as she said, offer herself to people. She's a big fan of exchanging sex for favors. Crazy, right? I dodged a bullet with that one. She probably did it while we were together, too. Hey, I bet her new bitch is paying her, too. Or maybe she's pimping her out?_

You stared at the screen in silence for a long, breathless moment.

Went over the words.

Read them over and over in your head.

When you finally spoke, the words came out in a growl. "I'm gonna fucking kill him!"

A part of you meant it. _Wanted_ to do it. Wanted to hurt him, torture him, make him beg for mercy.

Curious, Rowena looked down at your phone.

And instantly regretted it.

"He talked to Catriona?" It was a whisper, a whimper. Weak. Broken. Then, louder, with rage that could spark a storm, she said, "He talked to that _cunt?"_ Her tone made it clear she meant the American version. "She can't leave me be. Four years, and she… Four bloody years!"

Fresh tears spilled down her face.

You squeezed her hand.

"Why is this happening to me?" She looked into your eyes when she said it, utterly broken, like a hurt puppy begging for comfort. "Why won't they leave me alone?"

"Because they're assholes," you told her. "They're cunts. All of them."

"What could I possibly have done to deserve this?"

"Nothing. None of this is your fault."

She shook her head. "I must have done something."

"No. This is on them. And they'll pay."

"How?" she said in a small voice, and your heart shattered into millions of pieces.

If only you could give her a definite answer. If only you could make a promise that they would stop — that they would hurt and beg for mercy — and have it come true.

If there was one thing you wished for, it was that.

That the bastards paid the highest price.

"We'll go to the police," you said. The next best thing, which wasn't much.

"No," Rowena said, horrified at the mere thought. "Absolutely not."

"What they're doing is a crime!"

"I can handle it."

"Rowena—"

"No!" She got to her feet. Started pacing, nervous, out of her mind. "It will stop. There is no need to involve the police."

"But—"

 _"Please."_ Her eyes locked with hers, as pleading as her words. "Let me do this my way."

And let her be harassed? Let her be slandered and ridiculed?

"What if it doesn't stop?" you said. "What if they keep doing it?"

"It will stop. I know it will." She was so certain, so convinced you didn't have the heart to keep arguing.

Telling the police would mean letting even more people know what she was going through.

More likely than not, letting her mother know. _Again._

She couldn't have that.

A proud, headstrong girl such as her couldn't let herself be that weak again. Couldn't allow others — strangers — to see her as a victim, as this broken thing in need of rescuing.

She'd lived through it once and she was sure she could do so again.

No amount of begging and pleading would change her mind.

Instead, you said, "We can give it a few days."

Not an outright agreement, but it left place for discussion at a later time.

Rowena thought it through. "Okay," she conceded.

You had a sinking feeling that it wouldn't stop.

That, as horrible as it was, this was only the beginning.

You hoped with everything you had that you were wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited by miss-moon-guardian.


	31. Hit Me, Baby, One More Time

Everything from the time you got up and to the moment you walked into school was a blur.

It was as if you were asleep, running on habit, on instinct, rather than will. Your body wasn't yours; you were a guest, a passenger in your own skin, replaced by a ghost that walked the way you did, that talked and breathed and thought all the same as you while you hid in the farthest, loneliest corner of your mind, far away from the reality you'd come to know yesterday.

The reality you refused to acknowledge. That, as you opened your eyes this morning, you hoped had been nothing but a bad dream, knowing full well it was wishful thinking.

A half-asleep girl could still dream.

You were still dreaming when someone's arms wrapped around your shoulders and pulled you back — back into reality that shouldn't have been real, into the hallway filled with sneering and cheering kids that shouted words you couldn't hear for the noise was too deafening and you couldn't think and the only thing you wanted to do was slam your fists — your clenched, rock-tight fists — into Lucifer's smug face.

The bastard was standing right in front of you, laughing as if he'd just heard the funniest joke as Dean restrained you. Despite your attempts to free yourself, to lunge at your target, he held you in place with relative ease. The perk of being a jock.

To be fair, it probably wasn't the smartest idea to try to assault the principal's spawn first thing in the morning.

But, considering what said abomination had done, it seemed like the right thing to do.

Not good.

Certainly not smart.

But right.

Satisfying.

"Let me go!" you screamed, eyes locked on Lucifer's, narrow, threatening. Promising death and pain.

"Y/N, you don't wanna do this," Dean said.

Oh, you did. You wanted to very, very much. "You know what he did!"

"I know, but he's not worth it!"

He was more than worth it.

Crowley shared the sentiment.

The only reason you got to try to take a swing at Lucifer instead of him was that Sam and Dean had restrained him and gave him their _you're better than this_ pep talk.

You saw your chance and took it.

Damn Dean and his ninja reflexes!

"It's cute how you're protecting your girlfriend's honor," Lucifer said condescendingly. "Or what's left of it. If anything."

"You're a piece of shit!" you snarled.

He flashed an amused smirk. Oh, how you wished to wipe it off with a well-aimed fist. "I don't get why you're all mad at me? All I did was tell the truth. It's not my fault she's a whore."

Crowley shouted something that shouldn't be repeated in polite company.

You followed suit, trying once more to break free of Dean's hold.

Rowena remained silent throughout the entire ordeal.

She'd been silent since the moment she got to school.

She ignored the whispers. Ignored the purposely loud comments and nasty remarks. Kept her head down and sought her friends, who, as expected, asked about the social media drama, but got no response other than that she was fine.

It was as good as they were going to get.

Crowley remained by her side like a guard dog. Neither of them acknowledged it, but it was clear, from the looks he was giving everyone who had as much as looked at her wrong, that he wasn't going to let anyone give her shit.

Lucifer should be glad he wasn't dead.

Sam and Dean must have been quite good at pep talks.

"You know, Catriona told me a few more things." He looked at you, then at Rowena, taking in your reactions. Feeding on them like the leech he was. "I assume Gilroy Murphy rings a bell."

Oh, hell no!

 _Don't go there,_ you thought. _Don't you dare go there!_

He didn't have the right.

Rowena stiffened.

Lucifer chuckled. "Yeah, she told me all about him." He looked around at the crowd of vultures, making sure he had their full attention. An attention whore was nothing without an audience. "Rowena here likes taken guys. Catriona wouldn't fuck her, so she went for her boyfriend."

Laughter echoed. Gasps, _oohs,_ and _ohs._

Your stomach twisted into a knot, a storm of unease, of discomfort roiling inside it. It was easy for them to pass judgment. Easy to laugh and whisper amongst themselves, to look at Rowena as if she were a piece of filth. Easy to dehumanize her, to make her out to be a monster rather than a person.

Not a single one of them knew the full story.

They didn't know what her life was like.

They didn't know how alone she was, how much she was suffering.

They didn't know the sweet, broken girl behind the iron mask.

Lucifer, despicable as he was, at the very least had a motive. He wanted to hurt her, to humiliate her, to make her life hell.

What was their excuse?

What had she ever done to them?

"Shut your mouth!" Rowena snapped, livid, terrified. Meg laid a hand on her shoulder; she shook it off, glare pointed at Lucifer, a threat and a plea all in one.

He grinned, much too satisfied with her reaction. "Catriona said Gilroy was very apologetic when she found out he'd been cheating. So apologetic, in fact, that he told her something very interesting. You don't mind if I share, don't you, Rowena?"

Rowena's eyes reddened, pricking with tears. Color drained from her face. "Don't," she said, voice too small, too weak. Too broken.

He wouldn't dare.

Lucifer was a bastard, but this…

Surely, he had a heart in there somewhere.

"Where's the baby, Rowena?" he asked nonchalantly, as if he were asking about the weather.

There went that idea.

You were naive for even considering it.

Expecting humanity from the likes of him was like expecting a heatwave on Antarctica.

Rowena set her jaw. Swallowed hard. Willed the tears not to fall. She turned her head away from his smug face. Away from eyes landing on her and demanding explanations. Away from judgment and stares.

"What in hell are you talking about?" Crowley demanded.

"Oh, you don't know? Big sis didn't tell you?" Lucifer taunted. "Catriona's boyfriend knocked her up."

Crowley scoffed. "You're off your rocker."

"Am I? Tell him, Rowena. Tell all of us. You know I'm not lying."

"It's none of your fucking business!" you snapped. It was nobody's business but Rowena's.

Lucifer held up his hands. "Hey, I'm just talking."

"You're being a shithead!"

The insult didn't faze him. "Aren't you curious about your girlfriend's offspring? You don't wanna be a mommy at this age, do you?"

"That's our business."

He looked at you. Took your expression, your body language in, lapping up every bit of it. "You know. She told you."

"What is he talking about?" Crowley asked.

"Nothing," you replied. "Like I said, it's our business."

Rowena's body.

Rowena's choice.

Your life.

"Still, a baby's a pretty big deal," Lucifer said. "Where is it?" Mouth widening, tongue sharpening, he asked, "Was it even born?"

"Holy shit!" a voice in the crowd exclaimed. Familiar. Olivette, because of course it was her. "She killed it! She totally killed it!"

"Did you do it? Did you kill your baby, Rowena?"

"Stop it, Lucifer!" Castiel spoke up. "You're going too far."

Lucifer shot him an amused stare. "You're cool with hanging out with a baby killer, little brother?"

"I said stop it!"

"Or what? You'll tell dad?" He laughed. "You can't do anything to me, Castiel."

"Do you get off on this?" you asked. "Does being an ass make you hard?" Your eyes fell to his crotch. "Or are you acting like a giant prick to compensate for your small one? You sound quite repressed. Didn't get any in a while, did you? Rubbing one out might be good for you."

The comment elicited a few laughs.

"I got plenty," he said proudly. "How about you? She spread her legs for you like she does for everyone else? Or is she keeping you on a tight leash?"

"Oh, honey, leashes are the _best_ part."

"Why don't I believe you?"

 _Because you're an asshole,_ you thought.

And also because you were lying.

But mostly because he was an asshole.

"I don't care what you believe."

You meant it from the bottom of your heart. Who was he to think his opinion meant something? That it mattered to anyone other than him?

You loved Rowena as she was, with all her flaws and history. She wasn't a bad person. She'd made mistakes, yes, but who hadn't? She was a human being; flawed, imperfect. A person like any other.

Her only sins were being desperate to have friends, falling in love with one boy, and trying to love another, worse one.

If anyone should be judged, it was them.

"Why bring it up, then?" Lucifer asked.

"Why not?" you countered because, really, why not? "You started it." You might as well finish it.

"Who started what?" Ms. Hanscum demanded, her heavy shoes clicking as she walked up from behind you.

_Shit._

"We're just talking," Lucifer said, feigning innocence. Badly. Worse than a first grader in a school play.

She didn't buy it. "Uh huh. How about you continue your 'talk' after school?"

"I'd love to, but I don't think Y/N is down with it. She attacked me."

You grit your teeth.

Really?

_Really?_

Ms. Hanscum raised an eyebrow, skeptical. "She attacked you?"

"Yeah. She's crazy."

"You're so full of shit!" you snapped, and Dean, once again, had to hold you back.

You didn't care about the teacher, or the audience, or anyone. You wanted to bash his head in, the consequences be damned.

Lucifer spread his arms out. "See what I mean?"

"Okay, okay, let's all come down," Ms. Hanscum said, looking back and forth from him to you.

 _I'm perfectly calm,_ you thought. So calm that Dean released you (though that may have had to do with the teacher's questioning stare). You rubbed your arms, massaged your muscles with the tips of your fingers.

If you wanted, you could charge right at Lucifer. No one would be able to stop you this time.

But you didn't want to.

Because you were calm, and you were in control. And, also, Ms. Hanscum kept looking at you as if she expected you to do something, so, the rebel you were, you strived to prove her otherwise.

But, god, you were tempted.

"He's spreading lies about Rowena." You couldn't hurt him physically, so you went for verbal assault.

"I'm just letting everyone know what she's really like," Lucifer defended.

Bullshit. "You're spreading rumors to get back at her for dumping you."

"I'm warning people about her."

"You're jealous!"

"Of what? You? Please. You're delusional!"

"Okay!" Ms. Hanscum shouted, breaking off the argument. "You're leaving me no other choice. Principal's office, now! Both of you. We'll see if we can sort it out there."

"Are you bloody serious?" Rowena exclaimed, furious to the bone. "She hasn't done anything!"

"Why don't you join us, too?" the teacher said. It wasn't a suggestion.

Great.

This was fucking great.

Lucifer organized what was pretty much a hate campaign against Rowena, and she and you were the ones that got in trouble.

_Fucking great!_

You should have punched him when you had the chance. You were going to get in trouble anyway; why not go big rather than just go home?

As the bell for the start of class began, you, Rowena, and Lucifer followed after Ms. Hanscum. You and Rowena walked on one side, hand in hand, glares sharp and threatening death. He, from the other side, was smiling like a kid on a Christmas morning.

The smug snake.

Would daddy protect him again?

Or would he punish — really punish — his little boy for the first time in his life?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited by miss-moon-guardian.


	32. Mother Knows Best

Rowena had expected a fiasco since she'd first stepped foot onto the school grounds this morning.

She'd expected an even bigger one when her friends — when Fergus and, eventually, you — confronted Lucifer.

Nothing, though, could have prepared her for the thunderstorm that was her mother.

The outbursts weren't strange to Rowena. She remembered the epic fights her mother and her poor excuse of a father — if that wanker could even be called that — got into quite vividly. She remembered the absolute scorn on her mother's face back in December when details of her and Lucifer's relationship came to light and the reality of what, exactly, had caused her bruises came crashing down. Remembered the madness in her mother's voice, the pure, unadulterated rage, as she spewed threats of police and media and lawsuits at the cowering principal Shurley.

Hell hath no fury like Fiona MacLeod scorned.

This time, she'd gone off the rails.

While Rowena was mad at Ms. Hanscum for taking her, you, and Lucifer to the principal's office, she had to admit the teacher was fair. She'd given you the chance to sort the issue out. Though, unfortunately, the damage Lucifer had caused was too great for a simple conversation to fix.

Bruises she'd healed.

Humiliation, degradation… they would take a while to fade, if they ever did.

She'd been through it before; she knew how it worked. A reputation like that, however false and out of context, never quite went away. Most people may have stopped talking about it in public, but they knew. They knew, and many of them wondered and passed judgment because if there was smoke, there was bound to be fire, no matter how ludicrous the rumors were.

Rowena meant what she'd said — she could deal with it. She was no stranger to people whispering about her, calling her names behind her back, making senseless assumptions. She'd lived through it once, and she could do so again.

All she needed was for them to leave her alone.

They had a right to their opinions, however wrong they were. They had a right to speculate and badmouth her as soon as she turned her back.

She just asked that they not do it in her face.

It had taken her hours to make all her social media accounts private and delete the awful comments the night before. Her phone remained turned off; she didn't have it in her to click it to life to messages staring straight at her, accusatory, judgmental, cruel for the sake of being cruel. She could live without a phone for a few days, until she got a new number.

Her mother, on the other hand, was livid.

Principal Shurley's apologies fell on deaf ears as she screamed — actually screamed — in his face, her face ripe red, a bomb on the verge of explosion. Rowena was certain the entire school had heard her mother's shrill voice tearing into the Principal without a shred of mercy, with the same conviction and vigor Lucifer had put into ruining her reputation, into ruining _her._

The Principal, to his credit, didn't know about the harassment and had promised to put a stop to it. He could try; he could get the posts down and threaten the bullies with detention, but nothing could make the rumors disappear.

People's minds couldn't be changed that easily.

For the remainder of the school year, Rowena would be a whore, a cheater, and a baby killer.

She wasn't ashamed of any of it. It hurt to have it shoved in her face so cruelly, but she stood behind her actions.

She wasn't going to apologize for surviving.

Her mother, bless her heart, shared the sentiment. Rowena was worried she would cast a bit of judgment of her own, or, at the very least, be disappointed in her for keeping it to herself, but, aside from a surprised tilt of her head at the news, her mother stood right by her.

Principal Shurley had almost had to fall to his knees to get her to not call the police. He'd promised the posts would be taken down and Lucifer would be punished, and, as a final plea, made plans to hold an assembly on bullying and harassment. If, afterwards, Rowena had any issues, she was free to contact him, he'd said. He would happily take care of the problem.

As if it was that easy.

As if one assembly could stop people from whispering "whore" behind her back for the rest of the semester.

Her mother still wasn't happy, but Rowena told her it was okay. She just wanted this mess to be over. She was tired of everything; of the Principal, of Lucifer's smug smirk even as his father chastised him, of you being forced to witness the entire charade under the threat of detention for "attempting to start a fight," when all you did was try to defend her.

After all was said and done, Rowena was given the rest of the day off. She'd spent it in her room, curled up on the bed in front of an old movie, one of those classics she always turned on for comfort.

She watched as the thick flakes of snow rained upon the street, and all she could think about was you. If you were okay. If, after she'd left, you'd gotten the stares and whispers in her place.

It was a miracle you still wanted to be with her. It couldn't have been easy to associate with someone with her kind of reputation. She wouldn't have blamed you one bit if you decided to break it off.

There was only so much a person could take.

Was love enough in situations like this?

It was a powerful emotion, overwhelming, but, unlike what the movies and books said, it wasn't absolute.

You were under no obligation to sink to the bottom with her.

A knock on the door shook her from her thoughts. "You alright, hon?" her mother's voice, thick with concern, came from the other end.

"Aye," she replied.

As alright as she could be, considering the day she'd had.

She wasn't bruised and battered this time. That had to count for something.

"Can I come in?"

She rolled her eyes, not in the mood for mother-daughter time, but still said, "Aye."

Her mother peered inside, then stepped into her room gently, tentatively, as if she were walking through a minefield. Her eyes fell on Rowena, looked her over in that typical _worried mother_ way Rowena had always found overbearing.

"What are you watching?"

"Nothing," she said and shut the laptop. The end credits were rolling anyway.

Her mother shuffled her feet awkwardly. She took a small breath, and Rowena, well accustomed to that expression on her face, prepared for the inevitable. "Can we talk?"

"I'd rather not."

Not now, and not ever.

There were some things she couldn't talk to her about. Things that weren't for her, or anyone but you, to hear.

Her mother gave a nod, an honest one. "Okay," she said and meant it. She could be annoying, but she never pushed her children. Never forced them into unpleasant, uncomfortable situations. "Would you be okay with listening? I've a few things I'd like to say."

 _No,_ Rowena thought, but, with a shrug, said, "Whatever." The sooner she got it over with, the better.

"Is it okay if I sit?" her mother asked, looking down at the bed.

Rowena gave a small nod, though she wasn't the biggest fan of that, either. Her mother took a seat beside her feet, and all she could think about was that it was too close. Way, way too close.

The MacLeod family wasn't big on feelings. They rarely saw each other as it was, with mother working long hours, Crowley constantly heading out, and Rowena doing her own thing. They were a family in name only, really.

At best, their cohabitation could be described as symbiosis.

There was love, yes, and genuine affection, but they didn't show it.

They didn't have the time.

And, more importantly, pride didn't let them.

It certainly didn't let Rowena.

It took her a while to admit to herself she was in love with you, and even longer to say it to your face. Were it not for the confrontation the two of you had gotten into, she wouldn't have blurted it out anytime soon.

Her mother took a few moments to compose her thoughts into words, and what she said threw Rowena off balance. "I'm proud of you."

Rowena's chest tightened, heart burst into a sprint.

Where was this coming from?

Considering the stress she'd put the poor woman through lately, pride was the last thing she expected.

Disappointment?

Maybe.

Anger?

Definitely.

But pride?

Not in a thousand years.

Her mother continued, "You've grown into a marvelous young woman, and I've completely missed it. I look at you, and all I see is that wee girl with chubby cheeks and messy hair. But that's not you anymore. I know that now."

There was a wistfulness to her tone, a heartbreaking nostalgia.

"Don't get me wrong — you'll _always_ be my precious wee girl, but you're also so much more. I'm sorry I didn't realize that sooner."

Her hand reached for Rowena's. Rowena squeezed back, a left-over childhood instinct to hold her mother's hand tight and never, under any circumstances, let go.

Her mother was right — she was still that wee girl she used to be. She was grown now, but a part of her never left, and would always stay. A reminder of the innocence long gone.

"I should have been there for you. In Scotland. You shouldn't have been alone."

Scotland.

Right.

The harassment.

The abortion.

Everything bad she'd sworn to never go through again, only to make the same mistake and end up right at the start.

"I should have noticed."

"I was only a few weeks along," Rowena said. A small attempt at comfort.

"You're my baby," her mother said, adamant, decisive. "I should've known."

No.

She should not have.

Rowena had hidden it with a reason.

She hadn't wanted pity, and, though she knew deep down her mother would never turn her back on her, she didn't want to risk being told she couldn't do it.

Not that she would have listened; she would have had that abortion one way or the other, but the thought of her mother — the one person who was supposed to love her, to be on her side — being disappointed in her, looking at her as if she were a murderer… It broke her heart.

She'd had no one. No friends, no boyfriend anymore. No shoulder to cry on. And, with the whole mess with her father going on, the last thing she wanted was to lose her mother as well.

Willful loneliness was better than stone-cold rejection.

"I'm sorry if I ever made you feel like you couldn't tell me." Her mother's eyes brimmed with tears; a few slid down her rosy cheeks, quickly wiped away with the sleeve of her shirt. "I know I was in a bad place after what happened with your father, and I'm always at work these days, but you're my child. You come first. Whatever is going on, you can tell me. I mean it — whatever. I will never, ever judge you."

_Bloody hell!_

Rowena's own eyes filled with tears. She willed them back, tried her hardest to regain her composure.

It was just a conversation.

She wasn't a sap.

"Okay," she simply said, and it took everything in her to hold her voice together.

Maybe, a traitorous thought crept up to her mind, she was a sap.

A very, very wee one.

Miniscule.

Her mother's lips widened into a smile. "If anybody else gives you trouble, tell me. I'll gladly put them in their place."

Because that was exactly what Rowena needed — for her mother to fight her battles.

That was a tad cruel, though, wasn't it?

Her mother cared about her, _loved_ her.

What was wrong with that?

She would become known as mama' s girl, but that wasn't any worse than her current reputation.

Did it even matter?

What did she care about what some random Moira thought about her?

At least, she thought a tad smugly, her mother gave a damn about her.

The same couldn't be said for the majority of her peers' parents.

Rowena allowed a smile to bloom on her face. "I'll try."

Her mother beamed. Then, clearing her throat, said, "You and Y/N — is it true?"

Here came the awkward questions.

Rowena's face flushed ripe tomato red. She nodded.

It elicited a smile from her mother, big and bright. Happy to the bone. "She's a good lass."

"She is," Rowena agreed.

More than good.

You were everything to her.

One of the few people who gave her a chance. Who allowed herself to be her friend, to love her as she was without trying to change her.

Her miracle.

Whatever the future held, she would forever remain grateful to you.

What you'd done for her — what you'd given her, and kept giving her — would never be forgotten.

"She seems to care about you a lot," her mother said.

 _You have no idea._ "She does. She's… kind to me."

Kinder than she would have been to herself if she were in your shoes.

After everything she'd done, she didn't deserve a second chance.

And yet…

"You feel the same, I suppose."

Rowena's cheeks couldn't get any redder. Her skin was hot enough to burn.

This wasn't the kind of thing one admitted to their parent. Or talked about. Or mentioned at all.

She cleared her throat, sucked in a small breath, and nodded.

She loved you. Goodness, she loved you. So much it sometimes hurt to be away from you.

She loved you so much she couldn't imagine her life without you.

There was a time, not too long ago, she thought it made her weak.

If it did, she never wanted to be strong again.

"Why don't you invite her over for dinner sometime?" her mother suggested, pleased by the response.

That was just what she needed — her girlfriend having dinner with her mother.

As if your relationship wasn't cliche enough.

There wasn't anything inherently wrong with it; her mother's liking of you was no secret, and you, awkward as you were, didn't seem to think anything ill of her.

Still, it was strange.

It made the relationship official. Serious.

Which it was, but to acknowledge it like that…

She wasn't sure she was ready for that.

"We'll see," Rowena said. _If I'm ready_ was the unspoken addition.

It was enough for her mother. "I've got something for you." She reached into her pocket and pulled out a grayish-green bill.

A — Rowena realized, unable to conceal the surprise on her face — _hundred_ dollar bill.

Her mother smiled. "I got a wee bonus at work."

Rowena was stunned. "Are you sure? What about—"

Bills?

Food?

She wasn't one to turn down free money, but she knew their situation wasn't as ideal as she preferred to think. They weren't poor, but they weren't rich, either. Far from it, in fact.

Their mother, working two jobs, always made sure she and Fergus had enough money for outings, generous as she was.

But a hundred dollars?

"Don't worry. Like I said, this is a bonus. I gave Fergus his share earlier, when he was heading out," her mother explained. "Gavin will be getting a wee toy tomorrow. And this—" she glanced down at the bill in her hand "—is yours."

A bonus, and her mother's first thought was handing it to her children.

Rowena's heart swelled with warmth, with love that made her chest ache.

She took the bill. Folded it up neatly and clasped her hands around it, almost protectively. "Thank you."

Her mother grinned. "Anything for my girl. It's Valentine's Day soon — why don't you take Y/N out someplace nice? Or buy yourself something lovely?"

A Valentine's Day date sounded like a marvelous idea.

Rowena already had a place in mind. A perfect _thank you_ for standing by her, for never leaving her side. For loving her through everything bad.

"I just might," she said, smiling brightly, happily for the first time today.

"Great! Her mother's eyes fell on her discarded phone on the bedside table. "You need a new number, right?"

Rowena's face fell, gloom back with a vengeance.

"I'll take care of that for you tomorrow, when I go out with Gavin. Until then, you can use my phone, if you want. I assume you'd like to call or message Y/N?"

She perked right back up, like a flip of a switch.

They may not have hung out much, but her mother knew her so well.

"Thank you," she said again, and meant it from the bottom of her heart.

Today wasn't so bad, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited by miss-moon-guardian.


	33. Dinners at Expensive Restaurants Are A Girl's Best Friend

Valentine's Day had officially moved to the top of your list of your favorite holidays, and all it took was one phone call from Rowena — flustered, excited, flirty as she always was — asking you out to a high end restaurant.

The perks of dating a girl with exquisite taste.

As always, she went all the way; if the prospect of fine dining wasn't enough to impress you, she made sure her attire did the job.

It worked.

Good god, it worked.

She wore a black dress that clung to her body as if it were molded on her, the fabric hugging her every curve. Its sleeves and shoulders were lace, soft against her skin, patterned like intricate, exotic tattoos. On her feet was a pair of heels, the same black as the dress.

She looked like a gothic princess. Ethereal. Beautiful. Taking your breath away one heartbeat at a time.

Standing next to her, hand in hers, fingers twined, you felt underdressed.

You did your best, but you were no Rowena MacLeod.

The girl was glamor personified.

Even as you entered the restaurant, everything still felt like a dream. You wanted to pinch yourself to make sure it was real, that you weren't still in bed, sprawled on your back, eyes glued to the ceiling, lost in a fantasy.

Rowena's hand squeezing yours was real enough to make you discard those concerns.

She slipped her coat off and hung it on the hanger by the entrance. You followed in her lead, uncertain, but quickly reassured by the warmth wrapping around your shoulders like a blanket. The server led you to the table and, with a polite nod, left to let you decide on your orders.

One glance at the menu made you feel lightheaded. _Holy shit!_ You pressed your mouth shut, trapping the words in your throat.

"Something the matter, dear?" Rowena asked, attentive as she was. Nothing ever slipped by her.

You blushed. "Nothing."

She saw right through you. "Don't worry about the price. Order whatever you like."

"Okay."

It wasn't okay.

It was weird — the good kind, but still weird. It wasn't every day that you had dinner in a restaurant of this caliber.

It wasn't _any_ day, really.

"Tonight is _your_ night," Rowena assured you, mouth wide in a big, bright smile that elicited one of your own.

Her smiles were the most beautiful thing you'd ever seen. Magic, if you'd known any.

 _"Our_ night," you corrected, reaching across the table to grab her hand. Her skin was soft, warm under yours. A instant calm to your raging nerves.

Her cheeks flushed red as her hair. Beautiful. Adorable.

What you'd done to win over such an amazing girl, you didn't know, but you were happy.

You'd never been happier.

To think there was a time you couldn't stand the mere sight of her…

God, you were an idiot!

Past you was missing out.

Present you, on the other hand, more than made up for it.

If there was a way to spend every waking moment with her, you would jump at the chance.

Maybe there would be in the future. You pondered on the idea, mused on it. There was potential for this relationship to blossom into something bigger, something you still, after over a month, didn't dare put a name on. If things kept on as they were; if the two of you remained close, in love, head over heels for each other…

Maybe.

Hopefully.

Ordering your food and drinks took your mind off the thought. As soon as the waiter was gone, you turned to Rowena and asked, "How have you been doing?"

Not exactly romantic dinner conversation, but you had to ask. She'd taken a few days off from school until the dust of everything that had happened settled. You kept in regular contact and often came over to visit, but you still missed having her there as you walked the halls. Missed her hand in yours, her laughter that made you feel tingly in all the wrong places, her sarcastic banter with Crowley.

"Good," she replied. "I'm thinking of going back to school on Monday."

A traitorous grin spread over your face. "Missed you."

"Why do you think I'm coming back?" she teased.

Your heart trembled, skipped a beat.

She sure knew how to make a girl feel special.

"They announced the senior trip today," you told her.

"Where to?"

"Branson, Missouri."

The place didn't register. "Why there?"

"They've got some amusement park, I guess." You'd never heard of it, either, but it was a good place, from what the teachers and some of the kids who'd been there said.

Rowena wasn't impressed. "That's it?"

The feeling was mutual. "I guess. You going?"

"We'll see."

"Amusement parks can be romantic," you said, hoping to convince her. You weren't in the mood for traveling, but this was the senior year of high school. Drinks and fun and, you assumed, minimal supervision.

"There is nothing more romantic than screaming brats and filth," Rowena said sarcastically.

"You're just being mean," you accused, eliciting a small smile. "Come on. It'll be fun."

"Like I said, we'll see."

"Maybe you can get me drunk again and take advantage."

"I thought it was you who took advantage of me."

You laughed. Not your proudest moment, that was. "Maybe you can return the favor."

She winked, ever a tease. "Maybe."

You ate your food in silence, every now and then exchanging glances and smiles. You knew now why they called places like this high dining — the food was divine, as if prepared in heaven itself. You ate slowly, savoring every bite, every little chunk.

You could choke and die right now, and it would be a happy, happy death.

"This was so good," you said as you swallowed the last piece of your meal.

"Exquisite, isn't it?" Rowena said, taking a sip of water. The corners of mouth curled into a smile. "Nothing but the best for my girl."

Her girl.

Hers.

It still felt like a dream, an elaborate fantasy you'd concocted as you laid in bed, wishing it were real. Praying for it to every deity you could think of.

"Something the matter?" Rowena asked, taking notice of the shift in your expression.

"Nothing," you said a tad too quickly to be believable. She raised an eyebrow, and you sighed. "I like it when you say I'm your girl."

She let out a giggle that melted you insides into a squishy puddle, adorable to the bone. "You are precious."

Your cheeks were on fire, boiling to the touch. "Shut up!"

If anyone was precious, it was her.

"Make me," she said with a smirk.

You responded by kicking her foot.

She scowled. "Lass!"

"What? You said to make you."

She rolled her eyes in that signature dramatic way of hers worthy of a theater actress.

You grinned. "God, I love you!"

Rowena's expression softened. She reached for your hand, twining your fingers into a gentle knot. Her touch was magic, a comfort you always craved. Safety and promise and love and passion. Everything you ever wanted and so much more. You never tired of it; of feeling her soft skin on yours; of her warmth spilling into you and filling you up, making your heart swell up with it; of her, all of her, so close, yours in ways you never thought she'd be.

"And I love you." There was so much conviction in the words, raw honesty. Her heart was open, yours, only yours, her priceless gift. "With everything I have. I'll forever be grateful to have you in my life."

_Jesus._

Tears pricked at your eyes; one traitorous one spilled free, quick to be wiped away.

You wouldn't cry. Not here, not now. It wasn't the right time.

You were supposed to giggle and laugh at dumb jokes, not weep like a baby.

This was a happy occasion.

There was no place for tears.

"Thank you for always being here," Rowena continued. "Even when I don't deserve it."

"What are you talking about? You deserve the world," you said, squeezing her hand in emphasis.

She smiled, sad, dejected. "Flatterer."

"Guilty," you admitted, "but it's true. You're the best."

The best friend you'd ever had.

The best girlfriend you could have wanted.

The girl plenty of boys wanted and girls hated, and she was yours.

"Well," she said, batting her eyelashes, "that's true."

A laugh escaped you, small, happy. A peculiar creature, she was. One of a kind. Unique to the core.

And, best of all, yours.

All yours.

As you nibbled on your dessert, you snuck a few glances her way. She chewed on her cake slowly, turned every piece in her mouth, tongue, pretty, pink, delectable, darting out to wipe her lips clean every time she caught your eye.

The little tease.

You pretended not to notice, hoping to high heavens your face didn't give away the disarray of your insides, the storm of nerves and tingles that raged inside you, roiling and coiling under your skin, lighting you up like a thousand fires.

The girl had way too much control over you.

And, worst of all, you let her.

You welcomed it.

Rowena smirked as she swallowed the last piece of her cake. She licked her lips, then bit her lower one, eyes locked with yours. Taunting you. Daring you to look away, to resist her.

So damn sure of her victory for she was aware of what she was doing to you, and she relished in it.

Feeling helpless, you kicked her foot again.

"Ow!" she yelped. "What was that for?"

"Teasing," you said, barely holding your voice together.

She pouted, and it was the most adorable thing you'd ever seen.

 _Damn you, girl!_ "Don't do that," you hissed.

"Do what?" she said innocently.

"You know what."

"I'm afraid I don't."

Sure she didn't.

And sky was green and grass was blue.

"You have an unfair advantage."

She blinked, the picture of a pure, chaste little girl. "Whatever do you mean?"

You shook your head with a sigh, prompting her to smirk. Smug, victorious, a queen.

There was a time this side of her would have annoyed you. When you would have thought her pretentious, stuck up.

You knew her better now.

You loved her exactly as she was, every flaw and quirk. Every little imperfection that made her perfect in your eyes.

She was no angel, but, damn, if she wasn't a lovable little devil.

A short while later, the two of you parted with a kiss. You gave yourself over to it, to her. Let her roam your mouth; let her mark it and make it hers. She tasted as she felt; magic and honey, protection and safety. Home. A warm, comforting summer amidst the bone-chilling winter.

The taste of her lingered on your mouth for the remainder of the night. Your lips were numb where hers touched them. As you closed your eyes to sleep, Rowena's image popped up in your mind, bright, vivid, as if she were right beside you. You curled into a ball and imagined her arms holding you, keeping you safe, chasing away the cold that settled in your room like airborne poison.

She wished you goodnight in that sweet, soft voice she reserved only for you, and then she kissed you.

And, even as your consciousness slipped away and the daydream melted into a real dream, she kept kissing you.

All through the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited by miss-moon-guardian.


	34. Tripping

Traveling was the worst.

The act itself wasn't that bad, but the lead up to it might as well have come from Hell itself.

Waking up early — so early the birds had yet to start chirping and the sun was barely glazing over the horizon, it, too, too tired to function.

Pulling on clothes in a half-assed attempt to look presentable when you didn't even remember your name, yet alone knew what you were doing and why.

Going through your bag one more time to make sure you'd packed everything and messing it up because you still hadn't had your coffee and your vision, on a scale from one to ten, was somewhere between a a minus five and a zero.

To be completely honest, you had no one to blame but yourself (not that you would ever admit it; Rowena's pride had rubbed off on you, or at least that was the excuse you were going with). If you'd gone to bed early instead of chatting with your girlfriend about things you wouldn't be comfortable bringing up in polite society, you wouldn't have woken up feeling like shit.

You wished to say it was worth it, but…

Oh, to hell with it!

It _was_ worth it.

Rowena was worth it.

Today marked the third month, to the day, of your relationship. Time went by so fast; days bled into weeks, weeks into months, and, before you knew it, the dreadful cold was replaced by the fresh green of plants and the brightness of the sun, and you and Rowena couldn't have been more in love.

It was the one constant in the changes around you.

You loved each other; truly, madly, deeply. The more time you spent with her, the surer you were you wanted her in your future.

You wanted to spend the rest of your life with her.

You knew it was too soon. You'd known her for years, but you'd been friends for less than a year and only dated for three months. It was too short a time to get to know her, all of her. To get to know yourself before making such an enormous plan.

But you were sure.

You knew her enough to know there was no one you would rather be with; not now, not ever.

She was everything you'd always dreamed of, and more. So much more.

She knew how to make you laugh when you were down.

She teased and pushed all the right buttons, always with a promise of fun, never crossing lines.

She held you when you were down, whispered sweetly into your ear until you gave into a smile.

She cared about you so much. Too much. More than either of you thought she ever would.

And, most important of all, she loved you.

Good god, she loved you.

She didn't say it much, but she never wasted a moment to show it. Her kisses were love personified. When she touched you — when she held your hand, stroked your hair, hell, even slapped your ass — you felt safe, protected. At home.

You belonged with her.

If there was a way to make it official, to make it last forever, you would go for it in a heartbeat.

Maybe there would be, a hopeful part of you thought. Maybe, sometime in the future, near or otherwise, the two of you _would_ make it official.

It wasn't something you often considered. You didn't need a piece of paper to prove your feelings, but…

Maybe.

Rowena was already in front of the school's gates by the time you showed up. She was clad in her usual attire, a strange mix of business and glamour you found incredibly attractive. A pair of purple sunglasses hung over her eyes. They were huge, extra; completely her style. She sipped on a thermos of what you assumed was tea, and you instantly thought of Crowley's alcoholic coffee.

Rowena was Scottish, but not to _that_ extent.

"Morning," you said, diving in for a quick kiss — your usual greeting.

"Good morning, love." Her voice gave way that she hadn't had her full beauty sleep, either. Which was partly your fault, but, in your defense, she had messaged you first. She'd started it. You'd just joined in on the fun.

"You look like hell," Dean, who was standing right beside her, accompanied by Meg and Castiel, commented.

He was one to talk. "Likewise."

He shrugged.

"Nice shades," you told Rowena teasingly.

You could picture her rolling her eyes dramatically. "Don't you start."

"They _are_ nice," you said defensively.

She looked at you in what must have been a glare. Then, pouting, she said, "I look horrible."

"That's impossible." She could get hit by a truck and would still be beautiful.

"I've got bags under my eyes," she sulked.

"Poor baby," you teased, which earned you a smack in the shoulder. "Ow! Don't be violent."

"Don't be mean and I won't."

"I'm never mean."

She snorted.

You huffed. "You're rude."

"Are you two five?" Dean said. It had been months, and he'd still not gotten used to your banter. If he cared to at all.

At least he didn't hate Rowena anymore.

It was an improvement.

Sort of.

"Are _you_ under the impression we're talking to you?" Rowena retorted.

He rolled his eyes.

You and Rowena weren't the only ones who snared at each other.

She and Dean engaged in plenty of snark battles of their own.

Friendly ones, this time. No malice, all fun.

It was refreshing to see, to say the least. You didn't want to ever have to choose between them again (though your choice remained the same; some things you weren't willing to change your mind about).

Thankfully, it didn't take long for the bus to arrive. You weren't looking forward to spending four hours on the road, but it was better than standing amidst a crowd of kids, a part of which still, all these months later, stared at Rowena and whispered amongst themselves.

She was still the whore. Still the slut, the home-wrecker, the baby killer.

Rumors died hard.

To the Principal's credit, he had held an assembly back when it all happened. He'd managed to get some psychologist to come down to the school and talk about bullying for three long, long hours. It didn't do much, though there were quite a few students who realized what they'd been doing to their fellow peers — to Rowena — was wrong and left it alone. The majority didn't want to get in trouble.

There were no rules about opinions, though.

They were still allowed to think whatever they wanted about her. Whisper whatever they wanted amongst their friends so long as they didn't do it right in her face.

Rowena seemed okay with that.

You were not, far from it, but what could you do?

What they were doing wasn't — technically — bullying.

By some miracle known as being the Principal's kid, Lucifer was allowed to go on the trip. Kids had been banned for less; kids who didn't have daddy dearest guarantee they'd learned their lesson and would behave.

As if.

He and Olivette sat in the back of the bus, surrounded by their equally nasty friends. You and Rowena seated yourselves in the front; you by the window, leaning your head against the glass, and her right beside you, commenting — whining, pout and all — how it wasn't fair, that she wanted to sit there.

_Tough luck, baby._

You just chuckled and squeezed her hand, saying, "You can lean on me if you want. I'll be your pillow."

You didn't need to see her eyes to know she rolled them.

Meg and Castiel occupied the seats across from you, and in front of them Dean sat beside Charlie. You didn't know the rest of the students very well, but at the very least they weren't assholes like the ones in the back. It was a plus.

Sticking your headphones in your ears, you let your eyes wander outside. The scenery along the way was beautiful. Fresh and green and colorful with flowers, it looked like something straight out of a fairytale. There were fields of freshly planted corn, and those full of tractors and hunched over, hardworking farmers. Children played on the streets. People rushed to work. Cars buzzed left and right.

The country was alive, even in these early morning hours.

Rowena listened to your advice and let her head rest on your shoulder. It didn't take long for her to doze off. It was an adorable sight. Careful as to not wake her, you removed her sunglasses and lowered them on your lap. Unconsciously, she seemed to appreciate the gesture, as she instantly leaned further into you, pressing herself against you.

Her hand remained in yours, holding tight even in sleep.

She was so precious.

So wonderful.

So lovely.

A soft, tender little creature with walls of ice around her; ice you'd managed to melt and see past, to respect for the protection it provided her.

She trusted you in ways she hadn't trusted anyone for years. You swore to never do anything to jeopardize it.

 _I love you, sweet girl,_ you thought. _I want to be with you. Forever._

Would she want the same?

Would she be willing to commit?

Would she be _ready?_

 _All in good time,_ you told yourself. For now, you just wanted to enjoy this moment of peace, of serenity. Of pure and utter bliss as Rowena's heart beat tenderly against your side, a soft, calming little melody.

When teachers announced your imminent arrival at your destination, you gently nudged her awake. "We're almost there."

She let out a yawn; a small, adorable one that made your heart flutter like a thousand butterflies. "Already?"

"Uh huh. Sleep well?"

"Decent."

You grinned. "Told you I'm a good pillow."

"Good enough."

"Mean."

"You know it."

Looking around for nosy teachers, you pressed a quick peck to her lips. "I'm hungry."

The corners of Rowena's mouth curled into a smirk. "By all means, go for it."

You rolled your eyes. "You know what I mean. But I wanna kiss you, too. Lots more."

"Do it, then," she said, and it sounded an awful lot like a challenge.

Usually you would be up for it, but… "Don't want the teachers to bitch."

"Who cares?"

"I don't need that shit this early in the morning." Right now, what you needed was food. "We can make out later. They can't supervise us _all_ the time."

Rowena grinned, beaming. "Is that a promise?"

"I guess it is."

This was a senior trip, after all.

Why were you here, if not to have fun?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited by miss-moon-guardian.
> 
> Huge thanks to fangirlxwritesx67 for recommending and helping me out with research about Branson, Missouri.


	35. Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I barely know anything about Branson, Missouri. I just needed a good setting. The rest I made up. If you're from there, please don't be mad at the inaccuracies.
> 
> Huge thanks to fangirlxwritesx67 for helping me out!

The hotel wasn't anything to write home about, but you supposed it could have been worse. At least there were no cockroaches crawling about (that you knew of) and the rooms looked (and smelled) clean.

Each room had two beds, and, much to your relief, students were allowed to choose their roommates. You weren't too happy with the idea of sharing a room with some strange girl, even for one night.

You had lunch at the hotel (which was surprisingly good), after which you were taken for a tour around the city. Walking was far from your preferred activities, but going from place to place, from store to store, and looking at various trinkets and clothes was fun.

Rowena particularly enjoyed the boutiques. The clothes were out of her price range — way, way out — but a girl could dream. One day, she said, she would be able to afford those clothes. She would have an entire room to serve as a closet, and would fill it to the brim with exquisite clothing. Gowns, dress pants, blouses — anything she wanted, she would own.

You didn't doubt her for a second. She was smart. She had good grades. She could — would, definitely would — make something of herself.

She would make it big.

You were sure if it.

And, if she still wanted you, you would be right by her side.

The evening couldn't come soon enough. By the time you returned to the hotel, you were exhausted. Your feet hurt. The muscles in your legs throbbed with every step, every little movement you made.

Walking — to the surprise of absolutely nobody — was not one of your stronger suits, and, despite the initial enjoyment, had quickly become a chore.

Rowena, on the other hand, was good as new. Being a former dancer who regularly worked out in her free time had its perks.

She teased you the entire way back to the hotel, poking fun at your constant pleadings to slow down and your borderline pathetic panting akin that of a dying animal. You happily held up a middle finger in response to every remark, which only made her laugh harder.

Though, mean as she was, she did stop to wait up for you, and she gripped your hand in encouragement every time you felt like giving up.

It counted for something.

Something small, but still… something.

The last thing you wanted to do was head out — again — after such an adventure. You could easily stay in bed, sprawled about as you were, limbs limp, body aching. Finally at peace following hours of endless walking.

The teachers had other plans.

The evening, as they reminded everyone, was amusement park time.

Something you'd been looking forward to before the tour of the city sucked every last bit of amusement out of you.

Rowena, for the first time today, shared the sentiment.

Still, having no other choice, the two of you, along with everybody else, returned to your room for a quick change of clothes, fixed your hair, and returned yourselves back to the lobby.

"Bloody kill me, why don't you?" Rowena muttered as one of the teachers, who'd been to this wretched place before, started going on and on about how amazing and magical the amusement park was in the tone of a fangirl talking about her favorite boy-band.

You felt like you were already dead.

Maybe Rowena could join you in the afterlife.

To the teacher's credit, the amusement park genuinely was beautiful. Its lights were bright in the twilight that had settled over the city. Blues and greens and various others glittered like the sun in the dim surroundings. It was as if you'd stepped into another world; one full of color and loud music and happy children and adults alike screaming in delight. There were people all around. Crowds of them, walking about in thick groups, filling every space like ants. All laughing and talking, having fun, living the life.

You hated to admit it, but the scene cheered you up, if only a tad.

Maybe this wouldn't be such a bad evening after all.

The teachers made it clear you were free to roam around as you pleased, but you weren't allowed outside the park. They couldn't look after each student, nor was it their intention to; you were seniors, the majority of you legal adults. You could handle spending a few hours in the amusement park without an authority figure holding your hand.

You did, though, get a strict instruction to behave, which you fully intended on following.

You weren't here to cause trouble.

All you wanted was to have a bit of fun.

And to, hopefully, make out with your girlfriend now that you had more than ten minutes alone with her.

"I hate this," Rowena said, looking around at people strutting past, talking, laughing, shrieking. Her face scrunched up in distaste. "I feel like I'm in hell."

Honestly, you did, too, a tiny bit. But… "Come on! Don't be a Debbie Downer. We can have fun!"

"Aye. We, too, could scream our bloody lungs out!" she said in fake ecstasy. "It will be splendid!"

You rolled your eyes. It wasn't that she was wrong, just… she wasn't right, either. There were plenty of things to do. Like eating. "We can eat cotton candy."

She wasn't impressed. "How about we don't?"

Feeling spiteful, you walked over to the nearest vendor and bought a stick. Smug as a snake, you nibbled on the sugary goodness.

Rowena rolled her eyes. "You're a bloody child."

"Whatever you say, mo-mom," you said, stuffing a mouthful of pink sugar into your mouth.

_Mommy._

You were going to say _mommy,_ and then sugar must have activated your brain because, _holy shit,_ wouldn't that have been a mistake?

She'd teased you enough for one day.

The last thing you wanted was to give her more ammunition.

And get thoughts that were far from appropriate for the occasion.

 _Mommy_ was for daydreams and long showers, not public places.

Gently, you slid your hand in Rowena's. She was warm as always, home in the shape of a person. Her fingers wrapped around yours, thin and small but strong. It had become an instinct at this point; one of you would initiate touch and the other would reciprocate, no questions asked, no comments necessary.

It was just right. The way it was supposed to be. Your hand in hers, eyes shining like the amusement park's lights, mouths curled into smiles. Hearts beating in synchronicity, brimming with love that grew with every day, that slowly took each of you over.

You were hers and she was yours.

Now, and, hopefully, forever.

Rowena tangled a finger in your cotton candy, wrapping the sugar around it with surprising precision. Eyes locked on yours, coy as those of a cat, she slid the finger into her mouth and sucked.

She might as well have slapped you for your heart jumped as if she'd shoved that finger somewhere much more fun and curled it because she was Rowena MacLeod and she was nothing if not a tease.

_Shit. Shit, shit, shit._

She really did have immense power over you.

More than she even knew.

Or did she?

The way she was looking at you pointed to her knowing exactly what she was doing and enjoying every moment of it.

The little minx!

"Stop it," you said half-heartedly, when all you wanted to say was, _Don't stop. Please, for the love of everything, never stop._ But this was a public place, and, as much as you enjoyed being aroused by your girlfriend, the thought of it happening right here, around all the shrieking strangers and blinding lights, was far from pleasant.

"Am I not allowed a taste?" Rowena asked innocently. She blinked; once, twice, three times. The picture of a chaste, pure little girl.

Yeah, right.

And pigs could fly.

"You know what I meant," you said, cheeks filling with heat.

"I'm afraid I don't."

She reached for more cotton candy, and this time you were ready. Grabbing her hand, you clasped your mouth over her finger. Your teeth gently pressed into her flesh, a mock bite. The sugar melted in your mouth, its sweetness mixing with Rowena's warmth, filling you up, making your heart thrum a thousand beats a minute.

Rowena watched you, fascinated. Her mouth was curled into a smirk, a naughty glint flickering in her eyes. _Do your worst,_ it said. _I bloody dare you._

And, god, you were tempted to.

You imagined her finger slick with something else; something warmer, sweeter. Much more intimate than candy. You imagined her hands all over you, roaming you, marking you, exploring you. Imagined that finger curling up against you, sliding inside of you, doing things you, mere days ago, weren't ready for.

You were ready now.

God, you were ready.

You wanted Rowena. Wanted all of her, body and mind and soul, at the tips of your fingers. Wanted her smell imprinted on your body, permanent as a scar. Wanted her teeth in your neck and her fingers in your pussy.

She wanted you all the same. Her traitorous eyes said as much.

You released her finger with a plop, then licked your lips, never breaking eye contact.

"Naughty," Rowena commented.

"I learned from the best," you said, giving a small shrug.

"Well, I _am_ a great teacher."

Humbleness? She didn't know her.

Letting out a laugh, you pressed your lips to hers. A laugh of her own spilled out into the kiss, prompting you to give her another one, and another, each short and sweet as the sugar you'd suckled from her finger.

You leaned your forehead to hers, your free hand reclaiming hers. Squeezing it as if your life depended on it. For a long, long moment the two of you just stood there, lost in each other's warmth, in the love you were brimming with, fresh and bright as the flowers that bloomed around you.

You closed your eyes, and for a few blissful seconds the world around you vanished as if it had never existed. There were no people; no screaming children and their tired parents. No machines squeaking as they worked. No cars buzzing and honking. Nothing but you and Rowena, alone in the silence, lost in each other.

Someone passed by you, brushing against your shoulder, and just like that, the spell was broken. The stranger offered an apology before vanishing into the crowd; you ignored it, nerves on fire, blood lava in your veins as your eyes connected with Rowena's, lamenting the moment lost.

You stood there for a while, then, exchanging another swift kiss, kept your walk. Rowena resumed her complaints about the amusement park. It was too filthy. Too loud. Too boring. There was nothing to do.

Though your feet still ached, you quite enjoyed the walk. Cotton candy in one hand, Rowena's hand in the other, you practically glided through the park. It was a calming experience. Peaceful, despite the noise. You saw your schoolmates running around, drinking beverages that, based on their behavior, definitely weren't soda out of plastic cups. One kid clutched a can of beer. A few of the couples were making out.

"There's a photo booth over there!" you said, pointing to a small, bright blue cabin.

Rowena made a face. "You can't be serious."

"Come on, it'll be fun!"

You practically dragged her over. Truth be told, you weren't the biggest fan of being photographed. Photogenic, you were not. The furthest thing, in fact! But this was a onetime thing, a fun little activity with your girlfriend. No one else had to see the pictures.

You made it a point to strike odd, mildly humorous poses. Rowena was stoic at first, pouting at having been made to do this, but she eventually loosened up. The two of you grinned. Laughed. Made faces. Held finger horns over each other's heads. Hugged. And, finally, kissed; on the cheek, on the mouth, just two girls wildly in love, living the life.

The pictures didn't turn out half bad. Even you managed to look halfway human.

You were impressed.

She wouldn't say so out loud, but Rowena was, too.

It wasn't every day that she was entertained by what were practically selfies.

"That was fun!" you exclaimed happily, looking over the pictures in awe. Rowena made the most adorable faces; you couldn't take your eyes away from her scrunch, the squint of her eyes, the cute crease of her nose.

"It was horrible," she whined.

"You know you liked it," you said. You had the pictures to prove it.

"I just pretended for your sake."

"Sure you did." You held up the pictures. "I know your smiles. This one's not fake. Neither is this one. Or this little scrunch."

She sighed, defeated. "Maybe I had a wee bit of fun. The wee-est."

"Right."

"It was still a dreadful experience."

"Whatever you say." There was no point arguing her when she was like this. The girl was more stubborn than a herd of mules. "What should we do next?"

"How about nothing?" she proposed with a tight smile. Not _that_ was a fake one.

You ignored her. "We can do something romantic."

She stared at you as if you'd grown a second head, in pure and utter disbelief. "Like what?"

"Like…" Take more pictures? Eat? Drink overpriced soda? Thinking fast of what she might like, you said, "The Ferris wheel!"

The words weren't even out of your mouth before you realized you'd made a horrible mistake.

The Ferris wheel?

The fucking Ferris wheel?

What was wrong with you?

There was no way you were getting into that. No way you were getting into anything that tall, that high off the ground.

No way in hell.

Rowena looked up at the brightly lit attraction soaring through the skies. "Are you joking?"

"Yeah, that was a stupid idea," you said. Very, very stupid. So stupid, in fact, that you wanted to punch yourself in the face.

"Hm." She mused on the thought. "We could try it out."

"What? No!" you exclaimed, startled.

She furrowed her brow, curious. "Why not? It might be entertaining. Even more so than our little photoshoot."

"Yeah, but…"

But it was so tall.

 _Too_ tall.

It was more of a spur of the moment idea than something you genuinely wanted to do.

"But what? You suggested it."

"I did. But come on! We've been together for three months. You _know_ I'm a dumbass!"

Rowena raised an eyebrow. "Are you _scared?"_

You gulped. "What? No."

You were.

You totally were.

In fact, _scared_ was too tame a word to describe it.

She snorted.

"It's not funny!"

"You poor, wee baby."

You responded with an eye roll.

It only made her laugh harder. "So precious."

You flipped her the bird.

It earned you more laughter.

A groan erupted from your throat, bitter, annoyed. Though, you supposed you had no one to blame but yourself. You had, after all, suggested the Ferris wheel.

Feeling dejected, you pouted.

To your surprise, Rowena's expression softened. Maybe your pout had the same effect on her that hers had on you. She laid a hand on your shoulder, a touch so loving, so gentle it made your racing heart slow to its normal rhythm. "We don't have to do it," she said, and her tone matched it, equally tender, soft. Kind in that way only she knew how to be. "But, if you change your mind, I will be there."

Your heart welled up with warmth. You brought your hand to your shoulder, clasped it over hers, wrapped your fingers around her thin, bony ones. Her eyes sparkled with sincerity; she meant every word, every syllable.

She would be there, just as she always was.

She wouldn't let you down.

Swallowing a lump in your throat, you uttered in the small, small voice of a child, "You'll hold my hand?"

"Aye," Rowena said without missing a beat. An automatic response, no thinking needed.

Your eyes shifted to the Ferris wheel. It was a behemoth of a machine, reaching out to the sky to overlook the city. So tall. So high. So… terrifying.

Would you be able to handle spending a few minutes high up there all alone?

No, you corrected yourself. Not alone.

Rowena would be there.

She would hold your hand. Hold _you._ Mutter sweet words of comfort in your ear.

What was more romantic than that?

"Okay," you said in a shaky voice, breathing in deep for courage. "Let's do it."

You only lived once, after all.

The gondola was surprisingly spacious. A few people joined in with you and Rowena; a jolly bunch, all offering smiles and exchanging quick introductions.

Your heart pounded wildly as you soared up into the sky. You held onto Rowena as if your life depended on it. In that moment, it felt as though it had.

But, once you were up, you found it in yourself to relax.

The city was alight in the dark, bright and shiny, full of life. You observed the houses, the businesses with vivid neon signs, the cars that looked like toys so far below. A look of awe crossed your face; you couldn't turn away from the beautiful sight.

Rowena grinned at you, and you returned it, giving her hand a squeeze in emphasis.

Wrapped up in each other's embrace, the two of you watched the city, taking in its beauty, its glamour that outshined the stars in the sky.

It was mesmerizing.

Stunning.

Romantic.

Though confined to a gondola, surrounded by strangers equally mesmerizing as you, you felt right at home.

You looked up at Rowena. Tightened your hold on her, her small, lithe body a perfect fit against you.

Yes.

You were right at home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited by miss-moon-guardian.


	36. Love Me Like You

You had never taken yourself as someone who would go to prom, but here you were, practically jumping with excitement for it.

It wasn't the event itself that attracted you.

It was the experience. The music that made it hard to hear your own thoughts. The drinks — hopefully not G rated; you needed your liquid courage — and the atmosphere that made your heart race. Rowena's arms around you, her small body gently swaying against you.

And, most important of all, the plan you had for after.

You'd been thinking about it since Branson.

The rational part of you knew you were making it a bigger deal than it was. For most kids your age it was nothing. Just something they did for fun, already having gotten used to it.

You weren't them, you reminded yourself.

You were a virgin.

It had taken you three months to get comfortable with the idea of sharing that part of you with Rowena, of letting her get that close, but — finally — you were ready.

You were ecstatic, in fact.

You'd pondered on it for a few days, thought the idea through. Considered every possible outcome. What if she rejected you? What if she didn't love you enough to go that far with you? What if _you_ didn't like it?

The conclusion was the same — what happened would happen.

You wanted to have sex with Rowena.

You were ready for it.

When better to do it than at prom?

Just to be sure your plans weren't something straight out of a horny madwoman's head, two days before prom you'd taken Meg aside and, nervous, cheeks on fire, heart thrumming as if you'd run a marathon, asked her about it.

You'd expected her to laugh in your face, which you would have done to yourself if you were in her shoes. You were kind of — and that was putting it mildly — pathetic.

To your surprise, Meg had smirked and told you to go for it.

"They like it when you surprise them," she'd said, and you could tell she was speaking from experience.

Feeling more confident than ever, that was exactly what you'd intended to do.

If there was anyone who would appreciate sex as a surprise, it was Rowena.

You made sure to dress up as nicely as you could. You didn't care much for the prom itself, but you wanted to impress Rowena. Though, you knew, she would be impressed even if you showed up clad in a potato sack; she was, after all, already in love with you. Too in love to leave you over your horrid fashion sense. But still, you wanted to look good for her this one night.

This one night when you planned to give her your virginity.

It was silly to think about it like that. It was just sex. A biological urge, a craving almost every single human being in the world possessed.

You weren't special.

But it was special to you.

And, you hoped, it would be to Rowena as well.

Even though you showed up early, the venue was crowded. The music blared through the speakers, loud and deafening. Your skin vibrated with it, a sensation you found strangely appealing. Kids were dancing. Laughing. Living in the moment for there was nothing but them and the music, the rest of the world forgotten.

You found your friends by the punch bar and hurried to join them. Crowley and Dean were engaged in a conversation (if shouting into each other's ear over the music could be considered a conversation) that had them both laughing. Meg and Castiel were making out, too hung up on each other to notice anything around them. Sam stood by with a plastic cup in his hand, mouth curled into a smile — directed at Eileen Leahy beside him, who smiled equally brightly, equally joyful.

Now that was an interesting turn of events.

You knew Sam had a crush on her, but you didn't know he was going to act on it. Least of all ask her to prom.

Eileen signed something. Sam laughed, lowered his cup on the table, and responded with a sign of his own.

Warmth swelled up in your chest, insides melting.

They were adorable.

You greeted everyone, then turned to Crowley and shouted, "Where's your sister?"

"She was still getting ready when I left," he responded. "Barely convinced her to let me use the bloody bathroom!"

You chuckled.

Classic Rowena.

So long as she was coming, you could wait a few minutes. Or an hour. Or two. One could never tell when it came to her. The girl was a perfectionist.

"Glad to see you here," you told Eileen. Prom was a Seniors and Juniors event only; the others could only attend as dates.

She grinned. "Sam invited me."

Sam's cheeks flushed red as Eileen's lipstick. You sent him a wink, which only made him more nervous.

For such a huge boy, he was incredibly precious.

Crowley tapped you on the shoulder, and, as you turned, passed you a cup of punch that wasn't _just_ punch. You offered him a smile in gratitude and took a sip. The alcohol burned at your throat; whiskey, you realized, remembering the New Year celebration.

The memories flooded your brain, warm, comforting.

You and Rowena, all alone in her room.

Whiskey.

Nosferatu.

Cuddles.

The kiss — your very first, the one you were scared you'd taken by force, only to find out she'd wanted it just as much.

Sleeping in her arms.

You hoped to do it again.

To do much more this time.

To give yourself over to her, to be hers in body as much as in heart.

You loved her.

God, you loved her. So much your heart sometimes ached as if it were being ripped to pieces.

You wanted to spend the rest of your life with her.

What if she had different plans?

What if hers didn't include you?

 _No,_ you told yourself. Now wasn't the time to think about things like that.

Tonight was about joy.

Doubts and bad outcomes were problems for future you.

Present you was going to have fun.

A part of you was starting to doubt Rowena was going to show up when, half an hour later, she walked in in all her glory, and it took everything in you not to gasp like a fish out of water.

Her dress was as if someone had strewn it from rubies, rich and red and beautiful. It formed a V down her neck, showing off an impressive bit of cleavage. The straps were tight around her shoulders, her arms, pale, muscular, on full display, an unwrapped tease of the milky perfection underneath the fabric. There was a belt around her upper waist; black, leather, shaped like a snake whose crystal eyes glittered crimson.

Her hair was a braid slung over her right shoulder. A few smaller braids hung around it, thin and tight as whips. Her bangs were pulled up, exposing her high forehead. Lipstick the same shade as her dress adorned her lips, while her eyes were framed in black and glitter.

She was stunning, and even that seemed like a great understatement.

Mesmerizing.

Magical.

Royal.

Gulping, you downed the rest of your drink and threw the cup to the floor. _Jesus fuck,_ you thought. _Jesus fucking fuck. She's-god. Jesus. Fuck._

How did—

_Fuck!_

How could she possibly look like that?

How was she _human?_

_Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!_

"Hello, darling," Rowena greeted with a smile that lit a fire in your insides.

"H-hi," you replied, then, swallowing, added, "Who gave you the right to be this hot?"

She gave a smug smirk. "I take it you like it."

 _Like it_ didn't even begin to cover it.

Your face must have said as much because she laughed. "You are so precious!"

You huffed. "I should sue you for emotional distress."

"Go right ahead." She pecked you on the mouth. "You look lovely."

You blushed. "Thanks."

Mission accomplished, at least.

Rowena looked at the punch bowls and made a face. "Is there a real drink somewhere around here?"

Dean pointed to a bowl at the far end and winked conspiringly.

She sighed. "Thank you."

You joined her in the drinking, grabbing another cup and filling it to the brim before downing the contents in one go.

Getting turned on by her this early in the night wasn't part of the plan.

You needed all the courage you could get.

"We're gonna go dance!" Meg announced, pulling at Castiel's arm. As she passed by you, she leaned into your ear and said, "Good luck."

You uttered a thanks that got drowned by the music.

Not long after Sam and Eileen went away, as well, followed by Dean and Crowley, who each went in search of dates for the evening.

Your eyes never moved from Rowena. You found yourself unable to look away; she was too beautiful, too mesmerizing, so fucking delicious you found yourself getting wet just thinking about pulling that dress off her.

She did that on purpose.

She dressed up, styled her hair, and put on that makeup just to rile you up.

Maybe — and the thought sent your heart into overdrive — she had similar plans as you.

Maybe, sick of waiting, she wanted you to want her tonight. Wanted you to crave her, to yearn for her until you were unable to resist her and gave into temptation.

If baiting was her plan, it was working.

Good god, it was working.

"Are you going to stare at me all night, or are we going to dance?" Rowena said, her voice, sharp and teasing, breaking through the music.

Oh, the plans you had didn't involve staring in the slightest. Though it did make for good foreplay. You cleared your throat. "I can't dance, and you're gorgeous." Shrugging, you added, "It's a good compromise."

Her expression told you it wasn't.

Oh, well.

It was worth a try.

Without uttering a word, Rowena held up her hand.

You raised an eyebrow.

"One dance," she said, sighing in defeat.

"Is that an order?"

"Aye."

"And if I refuse?"

The naughty part of you thought, _Are you going to punish me?_

If so, you were prepared to be a very, very bad girl.

"I can dance around you," she said without missing a beat.

"Oh? Like I'm a pole?"

"If that is how you want to think of it, aye."

A naughty smirk bloomed on your mouth. "You a stripper, then?"

She leaned in close, eyes sparkling devilishly, mischievously, and, in a tone that was more purr than shout, said, "You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

She had no idea.

A rain of shivers slid down your spine, hot and cold all at once, as your heart all but dropped to your stomach, exhausted from all the pounding.

"Maybe," Rowena said, snapping you from your reverie, "if you're a good girl tonight, we can work something out."

The mere thought made you lightheaded.

Through trembling lips, you uttered, "Promise?"

She winked, and it was the sexiest, most enticing thing in the world.

The girl was intent on either killing you or fucking you.

Or both.

You had no complaints to either.

Gulping down another drink for courage, you let Rowena pull you into the crowd. She wrapped her arms around you, body all but glued to yours, warm and small and perfect, a puzzle piece made specifically for you.

Holding on to her, you swayed to the music. Followed the rhythm she set, gentle, peaceful despite the raging sea of students around you.

The music changed, fast, wild songs melting into slower ones. Your eyes fell closed, and the crowd dissipated. There was no noise, no annoying chatter and laughter and clicking of hundreds of shoes on the marble floor.

The only ones that existed were you and Rowena.

Safe in each other's arms.

Warm.

Crazy in love.

"Rowena?" you said softly, swallowing a breath for courage.

"Hm?"

"Is it okay if, um, if I sleep over tonight?"

If the question fazed her, she didn't show it. "Aye."

Fire shot to your cheeks. "Great. That's great."

"Is sleeping over the only thing you've got in mind?" 

You stiffened. "I… um…"

_I want to fuck you._

It was easier to say in your head than out loud.

You swallowed a lump that had formed in your throat. _Here goes._ It was now or never. "I'm ready."

You couldn't see her face, but you could picture a wide, happy grin breaking out. "Is that so?"

"Uh huh. I… I wanna do it tonight. If that's okay with you. It's totally okay if it's not okay, but, like, if it _is_ okay, then I'm okay."

You weren't okay.

You were _far_ from okay.

Closer to death than life, in fact.

Might as well have dug your own grave.

Rowena laughed heartily. "You are precious."

Your cheeks were on fire. "Don't."

"My precious wee girl."

"You're horrible."

She ignored you. "All mine tonight, aye?"

 _Forever, if you'll have me._ "Just tonight?"

"Hundreds of more nights."

You liked the sound of that. "Thousands."

"Millions."

"Forever?" you dared yourself to ask.

"Forever." The promise in her voice sent your fears scattering. A relief flooded through you, filled up your fiery veins. "You are stuck with me for life."

"I'm okay with that."

More than okay.

You were ecstatic.

Exhilarated.

High on the mere premise of spending the rest of your life with her for there was no one in this world you would rather be with.

There was only one Rowena MacLeod.

And you were the lucky girl who got to have her, who got her to love her and who loved her back just as fiercely, like no one ever had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited by miss-moon-guardian. Also, huge thanks to her for the prom info!


	37. Only Ever Yours

You stayed on the dancefloor for an hour more, holding each other, basking in the closeness, before leaving. Your friends tried to get you to stay, but you and Rowena were adamant that you were tired.

Meg, the only one clued in on what, exactly, was going on, gave you thumbs up on your way out. A wordless encouragement that meant the world to you.

The drinks you'd consumed earlier loosened you up a bit. Your muscles weren't tense, rigid; you weren't wood on your feet, a puppet without its strings.

But still, going home with Rowena for the sole purpose if having sex was terrifying.

What if you messed something up?

What if you said or did something wrong?

What if, when she saw you — all of you — she wasn't attracted to you anymore?

Your looks were on an average scale, far below Rowena's divine beauty. You had no doubt her body looked as great bare as it did clothed; having a background in dance and working out from time to time had its perks.

Your body, on the other hand, was awful.

You weren't a dancer or an athlete.

You didn't work out.

You ate what you wanted without paying a shred of mind to the calories.

While Rowena's body was a temple, yours was a ruin in the middle of nowhere, overgrown with weeds and infested with rats.

What if she pushed you away?

What if she laughed and, stone cold, dead serious, told you to your face how disgusting you were, how sick looking at you made her?

What if—

_No!_

That wasn't Rowena, you told yourself.

Once upon a time she might have been cruel, but those days were long gone.

She was a different person now.

Loving.

Caring.

Kind.

She _loved_ you.

Repulsion wasn't a choice, though.

She could love you all she wanted; if her body reacted badly to you, there was nothing either of you could do about it.

 _It's gonna be okay,_ you told yourself, trying to stay positive.

The night would go on as planned, just as the dance had, and, at the very end, Rowena would still love you as she loved you now.

Nothing would change.

Not for the worse.

Guthrie greeted the two of you at the MacLeod residence. Rowena sent him on his way, assuring him Gavin was safe in her hands; the boy had been fed and was asleep, requiring no additional care.

Just to be sure, Rowena went to check up on him while you got settled in her room. You sat down on the bed awkwardly, knees pressed together, cheeks burning with nervousness and alcohol flowing through your veins.

Your eyes fell on the sheets, on the pillows neatly tucked under them.

This was where it would happen.

By the end of the night you would be wrapped up in those sheets, bare as they day you were born, with Rowena curled up against you like a kitten.

You swallowed, hard, throat aching under the pressure.

It was going to happen.

After months of thinking it over, dreaming it up in your deepest, wildest fantasies, it was finally going to happen.

_Oh, god. Jesus. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck._

Would it be as good as you imagined?

Would it be heaven, bliss, everything magic and nice like you'd read in books and fanfictions?

Rowena knew what she was doing, you reminded yourself. If anyone could give you heaven, it was her.

She wouldn't disappoint.

"Sleeping like a baby," she said, shaking you from your thoughts.

Good.

One less thing to worry about.

"What about your mom?"

Being caught in the act by her baby brother was one thing.

If her mother were to hear anything…

You would never live down the embarrassment.

"Her shift ends at midnight," Rowena said. "I may have convinced her to take her colleagues for a wee drink after."

Of course she did. "Clever girl."

She let out a sound that suspiciously resembled a moan. "You know I'm a genius."

You knew all too well.

"It pays off to be prepared, no?"

"So you _were_ expecting this."

Suspicions confirmed.

"I was going to give it a try." She winked. "Great minds think alike."

You blushed harder. "I guess you did _that_ on purpose, too?"

The dress.

The hairstyle.

The makeup.

All part of a perfectly crafted plan, just as you'd thought.

Rowena smirked. "I had to give you some incentive."

She had no idea. "Oh, you gave me plenty."

If you weren't already ready, you would have been after seeing her like that.

She chuckled, a mischievous little sound that made your heart flutter.

"You're not playing fair," you said.

She raised an accusatory eyebrow, eyes settling on you, scanning you from head to toe. "And you are?"

Guilty.

"That's different. I'm not _that_ hot."

"Och, my dear, you couldn't be more wrong." She stalked over to you, steps careful, calculated. Enticing. Her fingers brushed against your cheek in a gentle caress; you found yourself leaning into it, her skin soft against yours, a welcome comfort. "You are bloody perfect."

Far from it, but you still blushed like crazy.

Was she trying to kill you?

"Flatterer," you uttered, barely keeping your voice from breaking apart into trembles that took over your hands.

"Just being honest."

Her voice betrayed not a trace of deception.

Not that you were expecting any.

One of the many things you loved about Rowena was her honesty. What she thought, she said. What she felt, she showed. She was generous with compliments; not just in words, but in actions, never afraid to give a kiss or put on a smile that made you melt into a puddle.

You couldn't have asked for a better girlfriend.

To think less than a year ago you could barely stand the sight of her…

My, how wrong you were. How very mistaken.

Rowena pressed her lips to yours, The kiss was soft, sweet, everything you wanted and yearned for. You closed your eyes, melting into the sensation, body falling limp, a puppet whose strings she pulled. Your nerves exploded. Heart raced, pounded harder with each movement of her mouth.

Every inch of you burned, a feeling you found yourself enjoying and dreading all at once as tingles spread through you, electric, tickling.

Teasing.

They roamed your body the way Rowena roamed your mouth, explored you, taunted you before finally settling between your legs

You pressed your thighs together. Rubbed them against one another for friction.

_God._

You hadn't even taken your clothes off, and you were already turned on.

"You're sure you want this?" Rowena asked as you parted.

Your lips trembled, swollen, aching for more despite knowing you would get plenty.

Patience wasn't one of your stronger suits.

"Yes." You looked her in the eyes as you said it, poured your scattered confidence into the gaze to contrast your weak voice. "I… I want you."

She had no idea how much.

Good god, she had no idea!

Rowena smiled, one of her sweet ones, the calm before the storm. "Ask and you shall receive."

"I, um…" Your cheeks flamed, this time from embarrassment. You swallowed a small lump in your throat. In a voice so small it was a wounded whisper, you said, "Rowena?"

"Yes, my dove?"

The pet name made warmth swell up in your chest. "I never… you know…"

"This is your first time?"

Her tone suggested she suspected as much.

You nodded.

"In that case, let's make it memorable, shall we?"

The grin on her face, wide, bright, told you she intended to make good on her words.

Your heart sped up again, anticipation building. "Sorry if I do something wrong."

"Y/N, please." She laid a finger to your mouth; perfectly manicured, her nail polish — a sexy, screaming red that made your head spin — shining in the fluorescent light. You wanted to kiss it, bite it. Suck on it like you did back in Branson. "You will do great. Just relax."

Relax.

You could do that.

In theory.

You swallowed. Sucked in a breath.

Yeah, you could totally do that.

"You're in good hands," she added confidently.

You responded with a small chuckle.

You _were_ in good hands.

 _The best_ hands.

There was no one you trusted to teach you, to be your first, more.

"If it gets to be too much," Rowena said, "let me know. Don't pretend for my sake. Tonight is about your pleasure as much as mine."

"Okay," you said with a nod, appreciative of the gesture.

"If, at any point, you change your mind, tell me and I will stop."

"I won't change my mind."

You were sure of that.

Tonight was the night.

No more holding back.

Besides, this was _Rowena._

Who, in their right mind, would say no to sex with her?

"I want you." You gently took hold of her hand and pulled her closer. Your lips connected with hers, locked in a kiss that betrayed your hunger, your ache for her. You wanted her; all of her, mind body and soul, right here and now. Wanted her all over you. Inside of you. "So much," you said through the kiss, eliciting a sound that was somewhere between a moan and a groan from deep in her throat. "I love you."

"I love you as well, my angel," she responded and accompanied it with a kiss of her own.

You never tired of hearing her say it.

Never tired of kissing her, of her sweet, sweet taste in your mouth that was magic and delight and everything you ever dreamed of.

How could one person be so delicious?

How could she be heaven and hell in one; virtue and sin, the sweetest dream and the worst nightmare?

How could she be so fucking perfect?

She had no right, you thought as she deepened the kiss, tongue breaking in, taking over. Making you shiver with anticipation as your mind conjured up images of that tongue someplace else, hot and wet and dangerous, your body writhing under its ministrations.

Your pussy throbbed at the visual. Excited. Overwhelmed.

She hadn't yet touched you, and you were already wound tight.

"Would you like to do the honours?" Rowena asked, voice a purr whose vibrations you could feel on your lips — your swollen, trembling lips, hungry for more, desperate like an addict craving a fix.

"W-what?" You released a small breath, then took in another one, and another in an attempt to compose yourself. A failed one for you were a mess of tingles and nerves and it was all her fault and you resented and loved her all at once.

She had no right to do this to you.

No right to control you like this, to have so much power over you with a single kiss.

"This dress isn't going to remove itself," she said, and, for good measure, added in a seductive wink.

"Oh."

_Oh._

Before you could process what, exactly, she was asking of you, you were on your feet and on your way over to her. Body running on instinct, like a robot programmed to do her bidding.

A very nervous, very turned on robot.

"You sure?" you asked because — what were you supposed to ask? What were you supposed to do?

"Och, aye." It was a purr, so delicious your mouth watered and a fresh wave of tingles, hot and cold in tune with her teasing, swept over you like a downpour drenching you from head to toe.

Rowena turned around. You stood still for a few moments, frozen in place, a useless statue brimming with nerves and heat and static going off, swallowing you whole one breath at a time. When you finally dared reach for her zipper. you flinched. Her skin was hot, seething. Inviting. Dangerous. Everything you ever wanted right at the tips of your fingers.

Slowly, carefully, as if she were a dainty porcelain doll, you pulled the zipper down. The dress bloomed open, exposing miles and miles of flawless, milky skin you wanted to run your hands all over.

Laying your trembling hands on her shoulders, you asked, "May I?"

"Aye, darling."

You slid the straps down her arms, helping her free herself of them, then pulled the dress down and let it pool at her feet in a crimson mound.

You gulped, overwhelmed by the sight.

Here she was, standing before you matching bra and panties; black, lacy, sensual. A fantasy you'd had so many times come to life.

You unclasped the bra, cheeks flaming, and brought your hands to her hips, fingers curling around the hem of her panties. Still. Anxious. Not daring to make a move.

Rowena clasped her hands over yours gently. "Go on, love."

She helped you pull the lacy garment down to her thighs, then stepped out of the fallen dress, peeled them off, and dropped them beside the rest of her clothes. She shook her shoes off, the red of her toenails glittering, and turned to face you.

You barely held back a gasp.

God, she was beautiful.

Naked as the day she'd been born, she was the picture of perfection.

Her skin was flawless, not a blemish in sight aside from a small scar on her right thigh, sprinkled with freckles that covered her entire body like fairy dust.

Her breasts were small, supple; you wanted nothing but to cup them, to pinch those perky nipples until they were hard.

She had curves in all the right places and muscles that were tight, strong, making her look like a Renaissance sculpture.

A timeless beauty.

And so yours.

Every single bit of her.

The realization knocked the air out of your lungs as if you'd been punched.

_God. Shit. Fuck._

She was yours.

This gorgeous, stunning creature was yours.

What had you done to deserve her?

"Like what you see?" Rowena said, smirking like the naughty thing she was.

You cleared your throat. Sucked in a small breath. "Maybe."

_Very._

She let out a laugh, one of those teasy, confident ones. "You know this is all yours, right?"

Oh, you knew.

She took your hands and brought them to her breasts. They fit perfectly in your palms, and, instinctively, you squeezed them. It prompted her to smile. "All yours."

She kissed you, a small peck on your lips that left you wanting — craving, needing — more.

"Patience," Rowena said, noticing your turmoil, your face a pathetic, dirty traitor. "First let's get these clothes off you, shall we?"

Throat tightening, trapping all the words you wanted to say, you nodded.

She stepped behind you and quickly went to work, unzipping your dress and getting it off you. You shivered, more from fear than excitement.

What if she was disgusted by what she saw?

What if she hated your body — your plain, imperfect, ugly body you'd never shown anyone before?

A strange sensation on your shoulder shook you from your thoughts.

A kiss.

Soft.

Wet.

Gentle as Rowena's hands that rested on your forearms.

"You're exquisite, my love," she whispered and planted another kiss, then another, slowly moving to the back of your neck.

 _No, I'm not,_ you wanted to say. _I'm awful._

You elected to keep it to yourself and instead closed your eyes and gave in to the feeling of her mouth on your skin, caressing you, loving you. Showering you with affection you'd been craving.

"My beautiful wee girl," she said amidst the rain of kisses. "So beautiful."

She helped you get your bra off, and stepped aside to allow you to pull down your panties and remove your shoes.

You faced her bare as she was, nerves popping, heart thrumming so hard you feared it would explode in your chest.

There was nothing but adoration on her face, pure, unadulterated. Wonder akin that of a child laying their eyes upon a mesmerizing sight for the first time.

She liked what she saw.

She liked _you._

Exactly as you were.

And, god, you didn't think it was possible to love her more than you already did, but here you were, bursting with it.

You shouldn't have doubted her.

You shouldn't have doubted yourself.

Tonight was your night, both of yours; she would never do anything to ruin it.

She would never hurt you.

"You still in?" she asked.

"Yup."

You weren't going to give this up for the world.

Rowena grinned. "That's my girl!"

Before you could utter a response, her mouth was on yours, and you were lost in the kiss that tasted sweeter than any before.

A kiss of promise, of wonderful things to come.

Soon you were on the bed, and she was kissing you all over; your neck, shoulders, breasts, and stomach. She did things to you that you didn't know were possible. Things you'd never even dreamed of. She brought you to the edge of pleasure, pushed you over it, sent you on a high and expertly brought you down.

She was right — you were in good hands.

You couldn't have asked for better.

You tried your luck reciprocating. Rowena led you through it, ever an endlessly patient tutor. Told you what to do, how to pleasure her one little step at the time.

The night was long, and by the end of it you were both spent, laying breathless next to each other, smiles big and bright on your mouths.

"How was it?" she asked.

"Perfect," you said, having no other words to describe it. _Fucking perfect!_

"Well," she beamed, proud, "I _am_ an expert."

"You are."

One with an ego, but an expert nonetheless.

You curled into her, pressing your forehead to hers. "I love you, Rowena."

"I love you, too, Y/N."

Your name falling from her lips was a pleasant melody. A peaceful, calming lullaby.

It echoed in your head as you drifted off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited by miss-moon-guardian.


	38. The Morning After

There was a body curled up in your arms.

A soft, warm, naked — _naked! —_ body whose chest rose and fell in small intervals as it breathed, calm and at peace, without a care in the world.

You blinked, eyes heavy with sleep as you coaxed them open.

Yes, there was definitely a naked body in your arms.

_Rowena._

A breath of relief slipped from your mouth as memories of last night flooded your mind.

The prom.

Rowena's red dress and spicy makeup.

The spiked punch — lots of it, gushes of courage.

The dance.

The kisses that still made you shiver with lust.

Rowena's hands all over you, inside of you, making all your dreams come true.

Your skin vibrated, hot where she kissed it. Your pussy throbbed; you were sore, in a way that was strangely pleasant, welcome. Wanted. A reminder that Rowena was there, that she made you scream her name and curse her out all at once.

As far as first times went, this was everything you'd wished for — even more so.

There was no lover like Rowena MacLeod.

She was the picture of peace as she slept. Her hair, free from its ties, was sprawled around her head like a fiery halo. Her lips were slightly parted, popped out in a small pout that made you melt.

She looked so sweet.

So innocent.

A contrast to the naughty beast that ravished you last night, that made you scream and tremble with delight to the point where, at times, you barely even knew your name, hers the only thing that rolled off your tongue.

She was truly one of a kind.

And yours.

You never tired of reminding yourself of it.

This beautiful creature was yours.

Yours, yours, yours.

Forever, if things went the way they were supposed to.

They would, you told yourself. Nothing was going to tear the two of you apart.

You were stuck with each other, the hardships be damned.

Your eyes settled on Rowena's sleeping form, unable to look away. _You're so beautiful,_ you thought, a smile blooming on your mouth. _So precious. I love you._

The full extent of it couldn't be expressed in words.

You would do anything for her.

_Anything._

Good or bad — it didn't matter.

You were in too deep, loved her too much to care.

Her eyes fluttered open, and your smile brightened. "Good morning, sleeping beauty."

"Morning," she said — or, rather, mumbled — softly, more asleep than awake. "Were you watching me sleep?"

You blushed. "Maybe."

"Creepy," she teased.

"Not my fault you're cute when you sleep."

"I am _not_ cute."

"You're adorable." She pouted, which didn't help her case. You giggled. "So adorable."

Rowena rolled her eyes. "Mean."

You responded with a shrug.

_Guilty._

If only more people were allowed to see this side of her.

If only they could see the honest smiles and the light in her eyes. If only they could feel the softness of her touch, always warm, comforting, kindness personified.

If only they got to know her as she was.

Maybe they wouldn't spread horrible rumors and laugh behind her back.

Maybe they would like her.

No — they _would_ like her, just as you had come to.

Rowena was a complicated girl. Difficult. A challenge. But, underneath it all, hidden behind layers upon layers of protective walls was a person. One so sweet, so kind it was impossible not to love her.

"Sleep well?" she asked.

"Uh huh," you replied. How could you not after such an eventful night, curled up with the one you loved? "Could use a couple more hours, but oh, well."

Your head was throbbing, a reminder of the alcohol you'd hungrily gulped down last night. It was a dull ache, a fairly small one; nothing a cup of coffee and an Ibuprofen couldn't fix.

It was worth it.

Even if you'd woken up with a massive headache and had to spend the remainder of the morning with your head down the toilet, it would have been worth it.

You wouldn't change last night for the world.

It was perfect. Everything you wanted, and more — much, much more.

"We can sleep in," Rowena offered.

"Not really feeling it," you said. "But I'm down for some cuddles."

Your arms tightened around her, pulling her closer. She fit perfectly against you, a small, pale ball of warmth you never wanted to part from again. Her heart beat against your chest; a soft, soothing melody.

She was relaxed.

At peace.

Comfortable.

She was bare before you; not just in body, but in mind, as well. Her walls were down as if they'd never been there, defenses lowered, armor stripped off.

It had taken a lot of trust to get here.

You swore to never lose it.

Nuzzling her scalp, her hair silk-soft on your face, you pressed a soft kiss to it.

_I love you so much!_

Your heart was brimming with it, swelling up with every ravenous beat.

_I wanna spend the rest of my life with you._

And afterlife, if such a thing existed.

"You're so warm," you said. "Like a little furnace."

"Shut up," Rowena said half-heartedly.

"My little human furnace."

She kneed you in the stomach — nudged was more like it, pushed softly in pretend attack — and you let out an exaggerated cry. "Ow!"

"Be good," she warned.

"You know I could crush you if I wanted to, right?" You squeezed her in emphasis, arms tight as knots around her.

"You wouldn't dare."

"Keep it up and you'll see."

"You're cruel," she whined.

It was adorable. Your heart was a puddle. "Gotta be to deal with you. Someone's gotta tame you."

"Och, darling, haven't you learned by now I can't be tamed?"

You couldn't see her face, but you imagined her smirking like the devil she was.

You chuckled. "Doesn't hurt to try."

Truth be told, it was one of the reasons you loved her.

She was this wild thing. Strong. Tough. A girl who belonged to no one, who knew her worth and settled for nothing less than what she deserved.

As sweet as she could be, she would never be a tame little housewife.

She had principles, standards, and you respected them immensely.

Through a small laugh, Rowena asked, "Shall we go eat breakfast?"

You stiffened. "But… your mom's there."

"Aye."

Well, shit.

How were you supposed to face her mom after tonight?

The New Year's breakfast was awkward enough as it was.

At the very least back then you hadn't had sex with her daughter mere hours prior — and looked it, messy hair and makeup and all.

"Do we have to?"

"No, but I don't see why we wouldn't," Rowena said. "Besides, mother's been badgering me about inviting you over for dinner. Maybe this will shut her up."

"Shit."

"I _did_ tell you she likes you."

That was the problem.

That made it _worse._

You groaned like a kicked puppy.

Rowena looked up at you. Locked eyes with yours. "I promise she is only frightening at school."

That wasn't what worried you, but it was good to know. "You know I'm not the most social person."

"I know, darling. But you will be fine." She reached for your hand. Squeezed it. "You had breakfast with us before."

"Yeah, but we didn't have sex that time."

She chuckled. "Nobody will give you trouble." The corners of her mouth curled into a smirk. "They wouldn't dare."

You smiled. Not _that_ reassured, but it was something. "I don't know."

"I can bring us food here, if you want," she offered after a small pause. "We don't have to eat with everyone."

That wouldn't be fair, would it? It was her family. Her home. You were just a guest here. Sighing, you said, "No, it's okay."

She eyed you, skeptical. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah." You grinned. "I'll be fine."

You stayed in bed for a few more minutes before getting up. Rowena pulled on her cute red pajamas, while you crawled into your dress — your wrinkled, messy dress still lying in a heap of discarded clothes on the floor, a remnant of your night of passion. Your hair resembled a bird's nest, face — smeared with makeup both yours and Rowena's, the perks of making out — that of a deranged clown.

Rowena helped you clean yourself up, make yourself look somewhat presentable. Your head still pounded, and there were large bags under your eyes, but at the very least you could show your face without looking like a freakshow escapee.

It was something.

On your way to the dining room, Rowena kept assuring you things would be fine. Maybe they would, you thought. Maybe you were overreacting, as you tended to do.

This was, after all, just Rowena's family.

You knew them.

You liked them.

What was the worst that could happen?

"You look like sex," was the first thing that came out of Crowley's mouth upon setting his eyes on you.

Well.

There went that idea.

Rowena shot him her deadliest glare, one that had surely killed before.

You blushed.

If only earth would open up and do you the favor of swallowing you whole.

"Fergus!" Mrs. MacLeod quickly chided him, prompting him to smirk. She turned to face you, smile bright on her mouth. Happy — truly, genuinely happy — to see you. "Good morning, girls! Did you sleep well?"

"Decent," Rowena said with a smirk of her own.

Swallowing a nervous lump in your throat, you gave a small nod.

"I dreamed about puppies!" Gavin chimed in.

"That's great, my love!" Mrs. MacLeod said.

"Can we get a puppy?"

"We'll see." She turned to you. "Go on. Sit. Breakfast will be done in a minute."

You had the (dis)pleasure to take a seat next to Crowley, with Rowena on your other side.

You loved your friend, you did, but this was not the time you wanted to be near him.

Or talk to him.

Or think about him.

"She got you good," he muttered under his breath.

"Shut up," you hissed.

"Glad I wasn't there to listen."

"I wish you weren't here now."

He laughed — a big, hearty laugh that did nothing to calm your nerves.

"Goodness' sake, Fergus, stop acting like a child!" Rowena snapped.

That only made him laugh harder.

"What's so funny?" Gavin asked.

"Nothing, Gavin," Rowena said. "Fergus is just being an arsehole like always."

That was putting it lightly.

But then, it was Crowley.

What else could you expect?

"Rowena! Fergus!" Mrs. MacLeod warned, exhausted. Clearly used to their exchanges and having none of them. "Can we have one normal breakfast? Just _one?_ Please?"

"Not my fault Fergus is being an arsehole!" Rowena said with a huff.

"I was just talking to my friend," Crowley said, feigning innocence. Complete with the exaggerated fluttering of eyelashes and a smirk that tried had to present itself as a smile. "Not my bloody fault she threw a fit."

Rowena rolled her eyes. "Poor Fergus, always the victim."

"Oh, piss off!" Crowley retorted and held up two fingers — the British equivalent of a middle finger, from what you'd heard.

You were proven correct for Rowena's — incredibly swift, as if she'd read his mind — response was a raised middle finger.

A sigh escaped your mouth.

Siblings.

"Mum, Fergus and Rowena are making rude gestures!" Gavin said, promoting you to laugh.

Mrs. MacLeod sighed, exhausted. She turned on her heel, scowling at her children. "What did I tell you?"

"Tell him," Rowena said defiantly, earning her a glare. "What? He bloody started it!"

"I didn't start anything!" Crowley exclaimed.

God.

What were they, five?

Hell — Gavin, the _actual_ five-year-old, was more mature.

Mrs. MacLeod exhaled. Sucked in a breath, deep, hard. Massaged her temples in attempts to keep her rising irritation under control. When she spoke, her voice was ice personified. "Rowena. Fergus. _Please."_

It wasn't a negotiation — not anymore.

The poor woman was at her wit's end.

Crowley and Rowena looked like they wanted to argue, but they elected to keep whatever they'd meant to say to themselves.

Mrs. MacLeod breathed out in relief. "Thank you."

The four of you sat in silence while she worked on the food. Crowley and Rowena kept exchanging glares like children. Gavin played with his utensils, every now and then asking when the meal would be done. You stared at the ceiling. Closed your eyes. Imagined yourself anywhere but here.

Being amidst — literally, with them both sitting on each side of you — a brother and sister's glaring competition wasn't the most pleasant feeling in the world.

You wanted to grab Rowena's hand, a habit you'd developed in situations like this. But, with Crowley just waiting for ammunition for his colossal asshole act, you didn't dare. You wouldn't even look at Rowena.

Oh, how you missed the time when he hated the mere thought of you and Rowena together — as friends, let alone lovers.

He still wasn't keen on the idea, but there was no malice to his teasing. No bite.

He'd accepted it.

In his own, asshole way, he'd come to terms with you and Rowena being in a relationship.

Didn't stop him from being, well, an asshole.

Not that Rowena was better.

It took two to tango, and she always gave as good at she got.

Family.

Such a messy, ugly thing it was.

Once breakfast was served, everyone hungrily dug in. Rowena was right; Mrs. MacLeod wasn't quite as intimidating at home as she was at school. She chatted with her children. Smiled and laughed in-between bites. Asked about the prom and seemed genuinely interested in the answers.

She may not have been around much due to working two jobs, but the impression you got was that she cared.

She loved her kids.

She wasn't perfect, but she was a good mother.

And, despite her kids' bickering and disruption, you could tell they thought so, as well.

"Did you have a good time, Y/N?"

The question startled you. Mrs. MacLeod was looking at you, a pleasant smile on her mouth. Genuinely curious.

You swallowed. "Um, yeah. It was fun."

Crowley snorted.

You kicked his foot as hard as you could, causing him to hiss.

Mrs. MacLeod shook her head, but there was a flicker of something — approval? Amusement? — in her eyes.

Great.

Fucking great.

"I bet it was," she said with a teasing wink.

She might as well have punched you in the face.

You blushed, hard, cheeks boiling to the touch.

This was exactly why you didn't want to have breakfast with her.

Crowley's teasing was one thing.

Your girlfriend's mother, on the other hand?

_Just kill me and get it over with._

It would certainly be more humane.

"Mother!" Rowena chastised, noticing your nervousness. Cheeks a ripe red that matched her hair.

"I'm just saying," Mrs. MacLeod said innocently. "I'm glad you girls enjoyed themselves."

Rowena turned her head.

You glued your eyes to your half-finished place.

"I'm not," Crowley muttered.

You kicked him again, and Rowena shot him another killing glare.

He yelped. "What am I, your bloody punching bag?"

"You want to see a _bloody_ punching bag?" Rowena fired at him, threat clear in her voice.

"Kids—"

Mrs. MacLeod started, only to be interrupted by Gavin.

"I heard meowing last night. From Rowena's room." He turned to his sister. "Did you and Y/N bring cats home from prom?"

At this Crowley lost it — he roared with laughter, red in the face, tears slipping from the corners of his eyes.

Mrs. MacLeod kept a straight face, but you could tell it was a struggle.

You hid your head in your hands, wishing death would take you any time now. The sooner, the better.

"Gavin, love, weren't you supposed to be asleep?" Rowena asked in her most patient tone.

"The meowing woke me up."

You glared at her, and she blinked innocently.

You'd told her being loud wasn't a good idea. Had warned her about her brother waking up.

"He's sleeping like a baby," she'd said for what had to have been a thousandth time. "Don't worry, darling. Let it out."

So you had.

You'd let it out.

You'd screamed. Moaned.

Meowed, it had apparently sounded like.

Rowena took a few moments to compose herself, then said, "We were watching cat videos."

That prompted Crowley to laugh harder, and Mrs. MacLeod to chuckle.

Gavin accepted the answer, none the wiser.

At least there was that.

"Oh, I almost forgot!" Mrs. MacLeod got up, reaching for the counter. "Rowena, you got mail. From Joffrey."

Rowena's eyes widened as if she'd seen a ghost. She snatched the envelope from her mother's hand and started tearing into it.

Joffrey? It sounded familiar. "The ballet school?" you asked.

Mrs. MacLeod nodded. "She wants to dance again. Did you know she used to? God, she was marvelous!"

You did.

You knew she loved dance.

Knew she'd given it up for the wrong reasons and missed it.

But the dance school?

She hadn't told you that.

"Yeah, she told me," you said, then turned to Rowena. "You didn't tell me you applied."

Guilt spilled over her face like paint. "I did. A couple weeks ago."

"That's great."

It was.

You were happy for her.

Ecstatic even.

But you knew for a fact Lawrence, Kansas had no such schools.

If she were to get accepted, where would she go?

How far would she have to move?

"And?" Mrs. MacLeod inquired, excited for her daughter. Beaming with pride.

Rowena gulped. Swallowed. Sucked in a deep, long breath. Eyes glued to the paper she held in trembling hands.

"I got in." Her mouth widened. Eyes sparkled. Face lit up like a Christmas morning. "I got in!"

As much as you wanted to smile, to grin big and wide, your eyes, the traitors, filled with tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited by miss-moon-guardian.


	39. Near, Far, Wherever You Are

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter of this story — the next one to come out will be the epilogue, and then we're done. I hope you like it. I was having issues writing it, and, if I disappointed you, I'm so sorry. I hope at least a part of it lives up to the expectations this story deserves.

You congratulated her because what else were you supposed to do?

You couldn't throw a fit and cry like a little baby because your girlfriend had the audacity to apply to a dance school — a school she apparently really wanted to get into — and get in.

So you held the tears back.

You pulled on a smile (or what was supposed to masquerade as one), congratulated her, and joined her mother in a little celebration composed of clapping and clinking glasses of water together as if it was the best news you'd heard all day.

Which, to be fair, it was.

It wasn't every day that your girlfriend got accepted into a prestigious dance school.

From what little you knew of Joffrey Ballet School, they were quite an exquisite school. They accepted nothing but the best; their dancers were famous all around the world.

This was an amazing opportunity for Rowena. Grandiose. Marvelous. With this school on her resume, she could do pretty much anything she wanted.

She should be happy.

You should be happy for her.

It wasn't that you weren't, you told yourself in an attempt to justify your feelings. You _were_ happy. Ecstatic, in fact. Joyful. Proud. You knew how much she loved dance. Knew how much she missed it, how much she regretted throwing it away for an illusion of popularity that was never truly hers.

A dance school, especially one of Joffrey's caliber, was a marvelous achievement.

Yet…

If she were to go there, she would have to move away. She would have to leave.

You didn't want her to.

You were aware it was selfish. This was Rowena's big chance. An achievement grander than anything you could imagine.

She _should_ leave.

She should follow her dreams.

She had that right — she'd earned it after years of hardships, of people taking advantage of her, using her as if she were nothing but a toy to be played with and tossed in the trash afterwards.

It was a big thing.

A _huge_ thing.

She deserved support, from her girlfriend, of all people.

Even Crowley, the asshole he was, gave her a proud smile. It was practically an applause, coming from him.

Meanwhile, you pretended. You held back tears, willed your breathing to remain steady, and pretended to share her joy.

God.

Sone girlfriend you were.

The worst one in the world, it felt like.

You hated yourself for it.

Selfish.

You were selfish.

A part of you — a small, traitorous part you were ashamed of — saw nothing wrong with it.

After all, you were entitled to your feelings.

Weren't you?

"So… Joffrey?" you said once breakfast was done and the two of you had retreated to her bedroom. A happy occasion, it usually would be. Naughty, after tonight. But sex, and even making out, were the last things on your mind right now.

"Aye," Rowena beamed, face all sunshine and butterflies and everything joyful and nice. She clutched the acceptance letter in shaky hands, eyes glued to the letters. Smile big and bright as the sun that lit up the town this fine Spring day.

A pang of guilt shot through you, ripped at your heart like a razorblade.

You were such a bitch.

Here your girlfriend was, happy to high heavens, and all you were thinking about was yourself.

_Selfish bitch._

You cleared your throat. Breathed in deep. Hated yourself and hated her — for not telling you, for keeping such a big, important thing a secret — all at once. "You, uh, never told me you applied."

Rowena froze. Stiffened as a statue, muscles tensing up. A few moments passed in silence, deafening, uncomfortable, before she dared look at you with the guilt sprayed all over her face like a permanent tattoo.

"I didn't think I would get in," she said softly. Too softly for her. Too gently.

At the very least she was telling the truth; you could tell that much.

It was something.

"Did you apply anywhere else?"

"I was meaning to."

So she hadn't.

Only Joffrey.

A school far away from your hometown.

"Why didn't you tell me?" It came off more as a demand than an honest question.

 _Easy,_ you told yourself. _Don't be mad. Breathe. It's okay._

You were just talking.

Calmly.

Like girlfriends did.

More silence. Then, "I was going to."

That wasn't an answer.

"When?" Another demand, a tad harsher than intended.

Rowena flinched as if struck.

_Damn._

Hurting her was never the intention. The last thing you wanted was to ruin her happy day.

But you were hurt, too. Selfishly so, but your heart still ached with every beat, every little thud.

You cleared your throat and, pulling on a smile you hoped passed as authentic, said, "I'm just curious 'cause you never mentioned anything."

There you go.

Nice and easy.

Cheerful.

Rowena swallowed. Uneasy. Careful to pick her words. "I didn't know how to tell you."

"How come? I'm not that scary, am I?" You grinned; another lie. "You know I'd support you, no matter what."

You did. You genuinely were glad she loved dance so much, that she wanted to get back into it.

It wasn't her pursuing her dream that troubled you.

It was the prospect of losing her.

What if the whole long distance thing didn't work?

What if she met someone else — someone _better?_

What if she wanted to live the high college life without the burden of a girlfriend half a country away?

You'd discussed bits and pieces of the future and had, so far, only come to one decision — you would be together in it.

The way to said future was a mystery.

Problems for future yous to worry about.

You should have known it would bite you in the ass.

With the school year nearing its end, a conversation like that was long overdue.

Besides, talking was one thing.

Living, following through with it — that was something completely different.

Rowena smiled, relieved. "I suppose I wasn't ready," she admitted.

You gave a nod.

That made sense.

If you'd applied to a school far away — a school you desperately wanted to get into, but didn't want to get your hopes up — you wouldn't know how to tell her, either.

How did one tell their significant other they would leave?

You laid a hand on her shoulder. Squeezed gently, reassuringly. "I'm proud of you."

Sad, but immensely proud.

Not many people got to make their dreams come true.

"Thank you, darling," she said and kissed you; a soft, sweet peck on the lips that instantly put your rabid nerves at ease.

"Where is that school?"

You regretted the question as soon as it left your mouth.

It was somewhere in America. Somewhere in this big, big country.

Somewhere that wasn't Lawrence, Kansas.

Hopefully — though you knew better than to get your hopes up — somewhere close.

"New York," Rowena said.

"That's…" Your throat tightened. Heart raced as if you'd just run a marathon. Fingers curled into the fabric of your dress, squeezed it. "Wow."

New York might as well have been on the other side of the world.

 _Far_ didn't even begin to cover it.

"Aye," Rowena said excitedly. "Fabulous, isn't it?"

Not the word you would use, but it certainly was.

New York was an enormous place. Glamorous. Rich with culture and class. A whole wide world contained in one city.

Perfect for a girl like Rowena.

She would fit right in. There was no doubt about it; she would make herself right at home as soon as her foot touched the ground.

And you…

Where would you be?

At a school of your own choice, presumably.

Far, far away from her.

Your heart ached with longing, as if you'd already lost her. As if she went away the moment she opened that envelope and her eyes fell upon the acceptance letter.

 _Stop it,_ you told yourself. You were being ridiculous, overreacting as you usually did.

Rowena was still here. Would still be here for over four months.

"Of course," she added, and you instantly knew what she was going to say wouldn't be anything short of saddening, "that's the main school. The summer intensive is in Chicago."

She might as well have punched you in the face.

Defeated, heart sinking to your stomach, you uttered, "Summer intensive?"

"Aye. I haven't danced for quite a while, so I have to complete the summer intensive," she explained. "If all goes well — and it _will —_ I'll be off to New York in Autumn. Full scholarship!"

_Damn._

She was so happy. So fucking ecstatic, her face lit up like a Christmas morning.

With reason — she was mere months away from making her dreams come true.

You wanted to tell her how proud you were, how amazing she was for not many people could make such accomplishments, but words refused to leave your throat. A traitorous tear slipped down the corner of your eye, followed by another, and another, and soon your eyes were red and puffy and swollen and you were crying a downpour.

"Y/N? What's wrong, darling?" Rowena asked, concern spilling over her face.

"Nothing. It's fine. I'm fine." Your shaky voice said otherwise. You wiped at your eyes with your wrist, only for more tears to replace the ones you cleared.

You were a horrible girlfriend.

Instead of laughing with Rowena, you were crying your eyes out like a spoiled child denied a toy she wanted.

Maybe she should go away.

Maybe she should break it of and proclaim to never want to see you again.

You certainly deserved it

"Y/N," she said sternly. A demand for an answer. Not taking bullshit excuses. Then, softly, her fingers twining with yours in a gentle knot, "Please."

God.

You couldn't lie to her now, could you?

Not when she was being so nice, so caring.

So fucking loving it hurt — it physically hurt — to keep this from her.

She deserved to know the truth. Deserve to know what a horrible person she was dating.

"You're leaving," you uttered through shaky mouth. A sob slipped through. "You're gonna leave me."

A look of puzzlement, of pure bewilderment settled on Rowena's face. "What?" A moment passed in silence, and then it dawned on her hard as a slap. She swallowed. "I'm just going to school. Who said anything about leaving you?"

Really, who did?

Your stupid brain, that was who.

"It's so far away." Good god, you sounded like a whiny child. "When am I-How are we-I—"

Sobs overtook you. Ashamed, you buried your face in your hands.

What was next?

Were you going to throw yourself on the floor and start kicking and screaming bloody murder?

"Hey, hey." Rowena laid a hand on your shoulder, a gesture that usually relaxed you, but now you flinched as if she'd hit you. "I'll just be a few cities away."

A few cities?

Chicago was farther than a few cities.

New fucking York was way, way farther than a few cities.

Besides…

"What if you find someone else?" you whimpered.

The distance, however difficult, you could (well, somewhat) deal with.

But the thought of losing her to someone else — someone smarter, better — tore you up into thousands of pieces.

Rowena looked at you as if you'd insulted her. Which you probably had. "Are you joking?"

Did it look like you were joking?

Your expression said as much.

She sighed. "Listen to me _very_ carefully." Her accent was thick in the words, voice stern, hard. She brought her hands to your cheeks; though she was clearly done with your drama, her touch was gentle, skin warm against yours. An unexpected comfort. Her eyes locked with yours in an intense stare. "I am _not_ leaving you. Ever. You are stuck with me, lass."

A chuckle escaped you, followed by her own.

It was comforting to hear the words straight out of her mouth. A confirmation you needed to placate your fears, to send them running.

"We're hardly the first couple in a long distance relationship," Rowena added. "It doesn't have to separate us." Face falling, she added in a small, small voice, "Unless that is what you want."

"Never!" you said. Not in a million years. "I love you, Rowena." Your hands covered hers, held onto them gently. "I don't wanna give you up. I'm just… scared."

Terrified.

Of being without her.

Of never seeing her again.

Of being alone and scared and broken and not having her there to hold your hand, to love you as she always did.

"You've no reason to be," she said.

Logically, no.

You were overreacting, terribly so.

But still…

"How am I gonna live without you?"

"You'll make it," Rowena said, and there was utter conviction in her tone. A promise she knew — she _knew —_ would come true. _"We_ will make it."

She was right.

You would make it.

Just like you'd made it through all the hardships these past few months.

You nodded. "We will."

You'd entered this game as enemies, and came out lovers.

There was nothing the two of you couldn't do, so long as there was will. Urge to push through, to succeed.

Hell hath no fury like you and Rowena on a mission, united, together.

Yes.

You would definitely make it.

It would be difficult. There would be challenges, times both good and bad.

But you would live through them.

You wouldn't give up.

You and Rowena were survivors. Each brave in your own way. Headstrong. Stubborn.

A measly thing such as distance couldn't hurt you.

"I'm sorry I haven't told you," Rowena said. "I wanted to—"

"It's okay," you cut her off. No need to dwell on it. "I'm glad you went for it. And I'm so proud… God, you don't even know." You grinned, big and bright. Happy. Encouraging. "You're so awesome!"

She blushed deep scarlet. "I sure am."

You pressed your lips to hers. She returned the kiss right away, took over as she always did. You gave yourself over, let her do as she pleased. Basked in her warmth and safety and the pleasant, welcome roughness of her tongue exploring your mouth.

She was sugar and spice and heaven and hell all in one, a delicious mixture that sent your heart into an overdrive. Your nerves were bursting, going off like firecrackers, burning you up one little bit at a time.

Rowena deepened the kiss, and suddenly all your worries vanished, tears dried as if they'd never stained your cheeks. All that mattered was her; the sweet, sweet taste of her lips, the tenderness with which she cupped your cheeks, that pleasant warmth of her skin that made you feel right at home with nothing but a mere touch.

She was right — you would make it.

It would be difficult; there would be tears and arguments and longing, but you would handle it. You would handle everything.

You loved each other like crazy.

Had fought for each other, for everything you had.

Some measly distance and unfounded fears were nothing in comparison.

You could do it.

You _would_ do it.

Together.

Even apart, you would still have each other. Would still be very much in love — maybe even more so.

You just had to be patient, and the future you wanted — that you _both_ wanted — would be yours.

All it would take was a few years.

You could deal with that.

You would learn to.

Rowena deserved to follow her dream and make something of herself. She'd worked so hard on being a better person, on shedding the walls she'd built to protect herself from the world's cruelty (and becoming cruel herself in the process). She'd allowed herself to feel again. Allowed herself to love, and, in turn, be loved.

Dance was all she had, her one constant.

You weren't going to take that away from her.

"I love you," you said softly as you parted, gasping for breaths.

Rowena smiled. "I love you, as well, my little dove."

The pet name made you blush, which entertained her immensely.

The little tease.

"We can work out a schedule for visits," she said. "I certainly don't plan on spending four years alone. That's an awfully long dry spell."

Expect her to make everything naughty.

_Nice going, Rowena!_

You snorted. "Who says we'll be having any more sex?"

She quirked up an eyebrow. "I thought you enjoyed our wee… _encounter_ last night."

She purred the word, which made your stomach flutter like a thousand butterflies as memories of last night flooded your brain, and all you could think about were her hands all over you and her fingers inside of you. Your pussy throbbed, hungry for a repeat despite still being sore.

You shrugged. "I'm just saying."

"You're teasing, is what you're doing," she accused.

Guilty.

"Maybe so. Not my fault you're so fun to tease."

"Rude."

"Always."

She pouted.

Your response was a peck on that cute little mouth, which made her huff.

"Let's not talk about that now," you said. "There's, what? Two more months until summer?"

"A month and a half," Rowena corrected.

"A month an a half," you repeated in feigned annoyance. "That's plenty of time for us to figure this shit out."

She had no complaints about that. "Fine. What is it you propose that we do?"

You had the perfect activity in mind. "How about we get me home to change, and then you take me out for coffee and tell me all about Joffrey. I wanna know everything!"

Rowena grinned. Happy as a child having just gotten the toy she'd been wanting. "I like that idea."

Of course she did.

You sealed the deal with a kiss, and, tangled up in a moment of passion, of desire that burned with a thousand fires, ended up on the bed, took your clothes off, and did a thorough repeat of last night.

They did say repetition was the mother of learning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited by miss-moon-guardian.


	40. Epilogue: What the Future Holds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are, folks. This is the end. I would like to thank everyone who helped me get this story to where it is. From my wonderful editors to my faithful readers — I appreciate every single one of you amazing people. Thank you so much! For reading, commenting, helping me out, talking to me, believing in me, encouraging me to continue even when it was hard. I hope the ending is satisfying enough, and that we will hang out soon when I work on my other projects. Best of regards, Mariana. ♥

There was nothing better than a wedding to get the old gang back together.

It had been a while since you'd seen everyone all at once.

Five long years — ever since you'd graduated high school.

There were times when it felt as if it had happened yesterday. As if you'd just said goodbye to your friends before everyone went their own way, their own direction, colleges and jobs calling.

Time sure liked to fly.

You made sure to stay in contact with everyone. Facebook, Twitter, Instagram; all tools you readily used. They were your friends. Some distance couldn't change that.

The seven of you had your own Facebook chat group that was filled to the brim with messages. Memes were shared. Laughs exchanged — in emoji form, but laughs nonetheless. News, good and bad, were told. Advices asked for and given.

It almost felt like old times.

Almost.

But not quite.

The truth was, despite how hard you tried to maintain your friendship, things changed.

Life happened.

Sam had gone to Stanford on full scholarship, dreaming big of contributing to the world, helping save it. With the way things were going, you were confident he would do it. If anyone could help make the world a better place, it was him.

In his free time, he liked to give speeches on healthy lifestyles, which, for some bizarre reason, consisted of consuming a lot of kale.

A kale smoothie had become a signature of his, the cup seemingly glued to his hand.

He'd become a hit on the internet for it. A meme everyone in your friend group shared and poked fun at. Light-heartedly, of course.

Dean was convinced Sam was doing it to embarrass him.

Sam, in turn, had told him a healthier diet would do him good.

Dean wasn't interested, and, a few hours later, had posted a picture of himself stuffing a big, greasy hamburger into his mouth with the caption #DownWithKale.

Sam was not amused.

Crowley had changed his name as soon as he'd turned eighteen. _Crowley_ had officially become his name, _Fergus_ long forgotten, thrown in the trash where he felt it belonged.

His family still called him Fergus.

Well, Rowena and his mother did. Gavin, the good boy that he was, had always referred to him as _Crowley,_ which was why he was Crowley's favorite family member (his _only_ family member, if he had any say in it).

He'd gone into studying business, rich businessman future planned out to the smallest details. He'd intended to work his way to the top; it would take a while, but he was confident hard work, combined with his cunning, ambitious nature, would earn him the throne.

Maybe, he'd mused, he could eventually open his own company. Be his own boss. Set his own terms.

May he have the best of luck.

Castiel had gone into teaching. A surprising choice of career, especially considering his awkward nature, but it was what he wanted to do. Helping kids. Guiding them by his own example.

He certainly had the drive for it.

Who knows? Maybe kids would like him. Maybe they would like his awkwardness.

Meg, not really the scholarly type, had gone to community college and had found herself working in a supermarket.

She hated her job, and she hated the customers even more. The chat was frequently filled with her rants about one thing or another that had occurred at work that particular day.

Funny stuff, usually.

Especially when she snapped at customers and got reprimanded for it, but kept doing it anyway because her boss knew all too well he couldn't afford to lose her as an employee.

Instead of a college, Dean had gone into trades. He'd opened his own little mechanic shop back in Lawrence. It was hard work, far from ideal, paid just enough to cover the costs of living, but he enjoyed it. He was happy.

That was all that mattered.

Rowena had worked hard on her intensive at Joffrey. It was a difficult three months; she was always practicing, always dancing, on her feet from dawn to dusk. You'd barely gotten to talk, aside from the weekends, which you'd spent in front of your phones or laptops, Skype open, smiles wide as you talked about each week's events.

You'd missed her so much.

Too much.

But, as with all things, the intensive had eventually ended and you'd gotten to have her home for a week — a whole week! — before college officially started.

The two of you couldn't keep your hands off each other that entire time.

It wasn't enough — seven measly days was far from enough — but it was something.

After three months of drought, it was the welcome, desperately awaited rain.

Parting for college was even more difficult. You'd each gone your own way, different as you were, each pursuing your own dream.

It was a struggle, but, like the intensive, you'd made it work.

You'd kept in contact. Skyped at every available moment. Traveled to one another's schools when the opportunity arose. Made sure to spend the holidays (the most important ones) together.

And, just like that, years had gone by, and soon enough school was behind you and you were together once again.

The decision to move in together was a mutual one. It was more of an understanding, really. With school behind you, jobs calling, and the relationship stronger than ever even all these years later, it just made sense to take it a step further.

Why _wouldn't_ you live together?

You did everything else together, so you might as well, to quote Crowley every time he walked in on you making out, get a room.

So you did.

You rented an apartment in Manhattan. A small one that, despite its size, was warm and pleasant and felt just like home.

Your and Rowena's home.

Sometimes it felt like a dream.

As if, every moment now, you would wake up and realize the last five years of your life were nothing but a fantasy, a product of your sleeping mind.

Then you would kiss Rowena's cheek, take a sip of tea from her mug just to tease her (her glares and pouts were adorable), and smile, and the reality — your reality, one you'd worked hard to accomplish, your so wished for future — would settle in and all the silly thoughts would go away as if they'd never existed.

You'd made it.

The future you'd dreamed of, that you and Rowena had planned for so thoroughly, had come to be.

It wasn't perfect, but it was yours.

Rowena had found work at Broadway. She was a dancer, and an excellent one; with Joffrey on her resume, the job was hers the moment she'd stepped into the audition room.

You were having difficulty with finding employment yourself, but, luckily, her pay was enough to cover the living costs of the two of you.

You felt bad; the last thing you wanted was to look as if you were taking advantage. But she'd made it clear she didn't mind. You were together. A family, for no other word could describe what you had, what you'd built and grew together. What was hers was yours, and vice versa.

Being a housewife wasn't your ideal profession, if one could call it that, but it wasn't bad.

It was, dare you say it, fun.

You found yourself enjoying awaiting Rowena's return after a long, exhausting day on her feet — literally — with a loving hug, a peck on the lips, and a warm meal on the table — a delivery from a restaurant or a warmed up can, for cooking was a skill you were still far from perfecting.

You were happy.

And so was she.

The two of you made it work.

Lately, Rowena had been considering joining the Royal Ballet. It was a big step, one that required careful thinking and plenty of discussions.

Moving to another city was one thing.

Moving to another country, half across the world, on the other hand…

She'd made it clear she wasn't going to make the decision without you. This concerned you, too; if you wanted to stay in New York, you would stay.

Both of you.

She just wanted you to think about it, weigh in cons and pros.

And you did.

You'd been thinking about it for weeks.

Bless her heart, Rowena was patient. She didn't push you, or rush you, or try to guilt you. She left you to your own pace.

You were immensely grateful for it.

By the time the wedding came, you were pretty sure you'd made up your mind.

In a day or two — hell, maybe even today, after the ceremony — you would tell her.

It was a small wedding, closest family and friends only. Sam was never one for parties. He and Eileen had rented a small cottage with a beautiful yard they'd decorated themselves. Quite cheap, as far as American weddings went, but lovely.

This was a wedding for love, not luxury.

When Sam had announced he was engaged in the group chat a year ago, you weren't surprised. You'd always had a feeling he would go for it first. While Dean was a one night stand kind of guy, Sam was more the settle down type. The kind of guy who kicked ass at work during the day and then cuddled with his wife and kids at night. The picture of a family man.

And, god, would he be a good one!

He was sweet and caring, a wonderful friend, and, no doubt, an even more wonderful boyfriend. Husband material, if you ever knew one.

Eileen was equally sweet, equally amazing. A lovely girl who treated everyone like a friend and loved Sam with all her heart.

They were perfect for each other.

Seeing your gang together after five years, in person, in full color, was an experience that was almost supernatural. There was screaming and squealing and hugging and teasing. You'd forgotten how noisy you were all together.

Your mind flashed back to high school, to afternoons at Biggerson's, sipping at your smoothies and coffees and stealing fries off each other's plates.

Those were the days.

There wasn't much difference to either of you. You were older, but other than that, you still looked the same. You teased each other as you'd used to, joked as if you were still that bunch of high schoolers who had the whole world under their feet.

There were changes, obviously. Inevitably. Some subtle, others not so much.

Sam's hair was an inch or so shorter, or so it looked in the pictures (he was still getting ready, having not yet shown himself to the guests).

You followed his example, having never been one for big change. Shorter hair was shorter hair, even if only a bit.

Dean bore — proudly — a few scars. Work injuries, though you were willing to bet he'd earned a couple in the bar fights he liked to brag about.

"You should see the other guy," he always said.

You never had any particular desire to.

Crowley had a small beard, and wore it well; it made him look older, more mature.

Emphasis on _look,_ for he and Rowena still bickered like brats.

Gavin, the actual child of the family, was more mature than the two of them.

Rowena wore less sparkly clothes (she now saved those for special occasions). Instead, she preferred to wear dress pants and blouses that you found strangely arousing.

Sometimes you got her to role-play in them. She made one delicious businesswoman.

Castiel dressed the same, trench coat over everything (even wore the damn thing to the wedding), looked the same, acted the same, however, his change was big.

It tied right into Meg's for she was seven months pregnant, and her stomach was appropriately swollen to showcase it.

She'd gained a bit of weight and dyed her hair blonde, but her character remained the same.

She was still that same foul-mouthed, opinionated firecracker of a girl.

And you loved her for it.

"You look great!" you told her first thing you saw her. Then you threw an arm around her, your other one wrapping around Castiel, and said, "I couldn't wait to congratulate you guys in person! I'm so happy for you!"

You were.

Happy from the bottom of your heart.

Ecstatic.

Proud.

The two of them had done well for themselves. Like your and Rowena's, their life wasn't perfect, but they made it work. They lived it to the fullest.

They were happy.

In love.

Excited for the baby, a joyous little accident.

You weren't the parenting type, (neither was Rowena), however, while raising a family wasn't your particular dream, you couldn't have been more excited for them.

This was what they wanted.

What kind of a friend would you be if you judged?

Families came in all shapes and sizes.

As did dreams. Ambitions. Aspirations.

Supporting them, wishing them well in any and every form — that was the true meaning of friendship.

Meg and Castiel would make amazing parents.

Weird and eccentric, but still amazing.

That baby would be one happy, very loved kid. Surrounded by a large family of aunts and uncles, all loving, caring, eager to spoil them.

Blood-related and not.

As far as Meg and Castiel were concerned, your group was family.

It was definitely better than some actual family members.

Like Castiel's father, good old Principal Shurley, who'd, a couple years ago, gotten himself into quite a bit of trouble for embezzlement.

The news didn't quite shock you as it should have. There was always _something_ about him.

Lucifer never stopped getting in trouble. Only, once he was out of school, his daddy couldn't sweet talk his way out of it (not that he hadn't tried; Castiel talked quite a bit about Chuck's restless attempts, and failures, to save him) and thus the darling little angel had gotten himself quite a record.

Assault.

Harassment.

Battery.

You name it, he'd done it.

It turned out that the police didn't give a damn about what daddy Shurley had to say about his son's character.

They surely gave even less of a damn now that he was serving his sentence for embezzlement.

Lucifer was currently with him, doing a two year stint for… something.

It was hard to keep track when it came to him.

The current Lawrence Hugh's principal was Amara Shurley, Chuck's sister, because of course she was.

Nepotism for the win!

Though, from everything you'd heard, she was, so far, doing a great job. Far better than her brother ever did.

Castiel had cut all ties with his father and brother. He'd considered doing so earlier, but now that he was expecting a child, the decision came with ease.

He didn't want his child around criminals. Didn't want them to set the wrong example.

That alone told you he was going to be a great father.

The ceremony, modest as it was, was beautiful. Eileen, in her snow-white dress, looked like a princess. No — a _queen,_ the veil a doubling as a crown. Sam was equally handsome, clad in a black suit that made him look somewhat older, more mature, a fairy tale prince come to life.

They said their vows with so much love on their faces you were one hundred percent certain they would make do on them to the letter.

Til death did them part.

There were smiles. Tears. So much joy it was overwhelming.

Meg was the lucky one who caught the bouquet, only to promptly, in a deadpan tone, say, "No," and shove it in Crowley's hands.

Crowley shoved it in Dean's, who shoved it back to him and started what was basically a struggle over the damn thing.

Not marriage material, your group.

Sam was the black sheep.

Laughter was exchanged.

Food — delicious! — eaten.

Drinks downed and refilled.

Dances had.

Aside from the newlyweds, Rowena had proven herself to be quite an attraction with her precise, professional moves. Everyone wanted to be her partner.

Not a dancer yourself, you had no problem with it.

However, after what had to be the tenth request, you considered charging people to dance with your girlfriend.

It was only fair.

The celebration extended long into the night. There was enough alcohol to keep everyone going.

The place, located in the middle of nowhere, was perfect for a party. No neighbors to complain about the noise. No busybodies sticking their nose in. Just a group of people having the fun of their lives, drunk out of their minds.

By the time you and Rowena arrived to your hotel, you were exhausted. There was more alcohol than blood in your veins. Your feet were killing you. Your throat ached from singing and shouting.

You hadn't even removed your clothes — shaking off your shoes, you plopped on the bed, curled up against each other, and drifted off to sleep.

When you woke up, Rowena was looking at you with a smile on her face. Your head pounding as if someone were whacking it with a hammer, eyes stinging, it took a bit of willpower to pull on one of your own.

"Were you watching me sleep?" Your voice was raspy, broken. You cleared your throat. Sucked in a breath.

God.

Singing had been a mistake.

Her smile melted into a smirk. She shrugged, nonchalant. Denying not a single thing. "I was just thinking."

"Should I be worried?" you teased.

"I'd hope not."

Her face grew serious.

_Uh oh._

Now you definitely were worried.

Morning — a hungover one at that — was the worst possible time for serious conversations.

It wasn't a surprise, though.

Rowena prided herself in her unpredictability.

"What is it?" you asked, light draining from your face. Preparing for news that, at best, would be unpleasant, and, at worst, absolutely horrible.

"Sam and Eileen seem happy."

They did.

They _were_ happy.

You nodded.

Rowena sighed, "Do you think we're happy?"

What was she trying to say? Heart racing, lump forming in your throat, you uttered a tad too defensively, "Do you think we're not?"

"Of course not!"

She seemed genuine, so there was that.

You allowed yourself a moment of relief. "Me, neither. I'm happy."

"As am I."

Good.

That was good.

You were on the same level.

She was silent for a few moments. Thought her words through. "I was just wondering if we should… take it a step further."

You frowned. "What do you mean?"

You had an inkling, but you wanted to hear it from her.

You wanted her to confirm it.

Rowena swallowed. "Get married."

It was as if all air had vanished from your lungs. Your throat was dry. Heart, once again, running a marathon. Hands shaking as if you were cold.

You weren't — you couldn't be — for as soon as the words left her mouth, a wave of heat flooded you, filled you up from head to toe.

Marriage wasn't on your list of priorities.

Wasn't on any of your lists, as a matter of fact.

You and Rowena loved each other — you didn't need a piece of paper to prove it.

But…

It would be a lie if you said you hadn't considered it once or twice.

What would it be like to call yourself her wife? To wear her ring; a promise in the form of shimmery gold?

"Or maybe just get engaged," she said after a few moments of uncomfortable, deafening silence. "Wear the rings."

You looked at her, eyes wide. Mouth trembling.

She gulped. Uncertain. Frightened. Nervous to the bone. "We don't have to. I was just… thinking out loud." She pulled on another smile — a fake on this time, hurt flickering over her face no matter how hard she tried to mask it. "Forget I said anything."

"No." You reached for her hand, twined your fingers with hers in a tight knot. "We could try."

She was stunned. "Really?"

"I don't see why not."

What was the worst that could happen?

You were already together. Already happy and crazy in love.

"We could try the engagement thing, see if it works," you said.

You had nothing to lose.

At this point, you could only gain.

Rowena beamed. A chuckle escaped her; lovely, happy. Adorable. "Okay!"

It was a perfect arrangement.

"I will get you a ring," she added. "Make it official."

"How about we both get rings?" you said. This was kind of a mutual proposal, after all. And also… "There's nice jewelry shops in the UK, right?"

It was her turn to be confused. "What?"

Your decision.

The one you'd been planning to relay to her.

The timing couldn't have been more perfect.

"We don't have to get engaged in USA, right?" you said. "Think about it. You, a Royal Ballerina. Me, a not-so-royal couch potato. That's a romance movie right there!"

Rowena gasped. Swallowed. Breathed in and out in attempts to contain her excitement. "You want to move to Britain?"

"That's what I'm saying, aren't I?" You grinned. Squeezed her hand. "I've been meaning to tell you. I figured now's the perfect time."

"Y/N, I…" She brought your linked hands to her mouth, kissed your knuckles. "Thank you! I just… Thank you, darling!"

You locked your lips with hers. Deepened the kiss, melted into it. Thought of millions of more you would share.

The future was yours.

All you had to do was seize it. Take it. Dig your claws in and never let go.

"Don't you forget me when you become a world-famous ballerina," you teased.

"Och, darling," she purred, "don't you know by now you're quite unforgettable?"

You chuckled. "Just making sure."

She pecked you on the mouth. "I love you."

"Me, too."

You'd loved her for five years.

You'd loved her when she was bad, and even more when she became good.

You'd loved her when she was away, and you'd loved her when she was here.

You'd loved her in your apartment.

You'd loved her in the United States.

And you would love her in the United Kingdom.

You loved her now, and you would love her in the future.

Forever.

And ever.

Til death did you part.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited by miss-moon-guardian.


End file.
